Parenthood
by PlaidIsTheBestPattern
Summary: Snippets in the lives of Guts and Casca as parents, if the eclipse had not occurred. Some will be short, some will be long(ish); some are meant to be humorous, some, serious. They will not necessarily be connected or sequential. Dedicated to those who, in their weakness (like me), long for some happiness in poor old Guts' life.
1. First Cries

**First Cries**

* * *

Judeau woke up suddenly from a scream in the night. He sighed, as reality took hold and he realized what it was. Even though Guts and Casca had purposely pitched their tent away from the rest of the camp because of the impending birth of heir child, Casca's cries of pain still rang out through the night. No one could sleep, but no one wanted to stand around either. It was a bit unnerving to sit around the campfire while the commander of your army was in labor and you could hear her screams.

Judeau got up and strode outside to enjoy the cool night air. It was then that he spotted Guts, not inside his own tent while Casca gave birth, but pacing around outside of it looking like a nervous wreck.

Judeau approached. "Guts? Shouldn't you be inside—I don't know… holding Casca's hand?"

Guts furrowed his eyebrows and pouted. "I was inside earlier, but then I said something she didn't like, and she told me to get out." He was still pacing back and forth.

"Oh dear…" Judeau said. He couldn't help the grin on his face. "What did you say?"

"Lots'a stuff. I dunno which one made her most mad; I'm trying to figure it out." He started counting on his fingers as he paced. "First, I looked where the baby was supposed to come out and I said—well… I know why that one made her mad. Then I said something like, 'Why are you being so irritable? It can't hurt that bad, tough it out!' When I said that, the midwife glared at me and Casca tried to punch me in the nose. Then I asked why it was taking her so long—I mean, how long should it take to pop out a baby? And that's when they kicked me out."

Judeau smacked his own face. "Guts, labor takes a very long time, and it's very painful—much more painful than any wound you've gotten on the battlefield." He explained.

Guts looked at him with surprise. "Really?"

Judeau raised an eyebrow. "Guts, do you know anything about pregnancy and giving birth?"

The nineteen year-old stopped pacing. "Not aside from what I've learned from Casca yelling at me over the past nine months. I don't remember being born. Of course, I was born from a corpse, so it wouldn't really matter if I did remember…"

Ignoring that last tidbit (for now) in favor of the issue at hand, Judeau reflected: Yeah, when he heard Casca's constant yelling at Guts over the past months, he'd assumed the issue was her most of the time—pregnancy hormones and all that. He now realized how unfair that was of him. Guts was like a giant… kid. He knew very little about the world around him, as he had experienced most of his life by the tip of a sword. _Maybe he should have spent more time studying society when he was away, instead of practicing in seclusion._ Judeau thought. He sighed and put a hand on the captain's shoulder. "Guts, there's only one thing you need to know for right now. For next time, we'll… hold a seminar just for you."

"Next time? I hope that's not for a while!" Guts muttered, sticking his lower lip out.

"…When the mother of your child is giving birth, you don't need to say anything like all the things you just said. In fact, it's okay if you don't say anything at all. Just… hold her hand."

"Hold her hand?" He clarified, raising an eyebrow.

"Hold her hand." Judeau nodded.

Casca yelled again from the tent, and Guts started fidgeting, like he couldn't stand being outside while she was in pain. "GUTS! GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE!" She cried suddenly.

Guts looked utterly bewildered. "Does she want me to go or stay?" He asked.

Judeau looked at him seriously. "Go inside, say: 'I'm sorry for being a jerk'—nothing more, nothing less, then just… hold her hand."

Guts' face grew more serious. He nodded. "Okay." He dashed inside, and Judeau was pleased to hear him take the advice. He heard the big lug mutter, "…I'm sorry for being a jerk…" And Casca's pained reply: "It's… okay, Guts. Just… keep holding my hand."

Judeau grinned as he walked away. He'd have to tell their kid in a couple years that its parents would be split if it weren't for his advice.

Guts held Casca's hand, and she squeezed it tighter than he thought she had in her. It made him realize that this labor thing really must be tough. Guts kicked himself inwardly. He wiped the sweat from Casca's face with his free hand, and kissed her on the forehead. "You're doing great, Casca." He said gently.

Shortly after, the midwife called for the final push, and the couple heard the cries of their baby for the first time. The midwife grinned up at them as she cleaned the baby and wrapped it in a blanket. "It's a boy." She said.

She placed the squalling child in Casca's waiting arms, and the new mother burst into tears at the sight of their baby.

Guts peered over her shoulder and looked with wonder at the tiny thing. "He's so… little!" He said quietly, staring at the new life. Casca counted the baby's fingers and toes, and Guts marveled at how the tiny thing moved in her grasp. "I can't believe we made this!" He said. He layed down next to Casca and put his arm around her, content just to stare at the little creature.

"Oh, Guts! I was so caught up in looking at him I didn't even think about the fact that I was hogging him!" Casca said after several minutes, wiping her tears and lifting the child toward him. "Are you ready to hold him?"

The new father felt a lump in his throat. "He's so small that I'm afraid to touch him... What if I hurt him?"

"It'll be fine!" Casca assured him. Then more quietly she added, "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to see this. It's going to be _so_ cute."

Guts raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval, but he was fighting a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You have to hold him some time. Go on." She urged, pressing the baby into his arms.

The instant their child was in his grasp, Guts gasped. Casca saw his arms begin to shake as he pressed the baby up against him, and its cries stopped for the first time in his secure arms. Tears swelled in Guts' eyes—only the second time Casca had seen that. Guts could feel the life in their child, and, like he'd said, he recognized how fragile it was—fragile, and also precious beyond words.

"Guts? Are you okay?" Casca asked as she sensed the change in him.

Guts looked at her with wide eyes that defied his usual confidence. "What if I'm not a good father?" He asked.

Casca put her arms around him tightly. "Are you thinking about Gambino?"

"…Yeah." He said, casting his eyes on the floor.

Casca rested her cheek on his shoulder. He'd told her plenty of things about Gambino, and there was no getting around the fact that he was an asshole. She wondered how she could say that without hurting Guts' feelings. Even after all this time, he still loved Gambino very deeply. "Do you love our son?" She asked finally.

"More than… I've loved anything ever—except you." He replied, staring down at the new life.

"Then you'll be a great father." She whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

Guts gradually started to trust himself with at least the ability to hold the baby. He put his finger by the baby's tiny fist, and grinned like a fool when his son grabbed it. "He's got your eyes." He said to Casca.

"And your nose." She replied, leaning over his shoulder and poking the baby's nose as she said it.

They had a few hours alone with their son before the Hawks couldn't stand waiting outside anymore. They'd heard the baby's first cries and were all too eager to see the little life their friends had created.

"Umm… Captain? Commander Casca?" Gaston's voice came from outside.

"What is it Gaston?" Guts shouted back.

"Well… all the Raiders are out here, and we're all dyin' to see your new baby! You think it'd be okay if we came in and saw him? It's okay if you'd rather have more time alone with him…"

"Hey, the commanders get first dibs!" Guts could have sworn that was Corkus' voice…

"Corkus! That's not fair! The Raiders are just as excited to see the baby as you are!" Rickert's voice chided.

"I-I'm not excited! I just think we should get to go in first—on principal!"

Guts stuck his lip out and glared at the entrance to the tent.

"Why are you making that face?" Casca asked, laughing.

"I don't want them to come in. They might want to hold him, and I'm afraid they'll be too rough—if they make him cry, I'll bash their heads in!"

"Wow! Protective, aren't we?" Casca smiled. "That's incredibly adorable, but we've got to let someone else hold him some time."

Guts grunted in displeasure. "…Not tonight we don't! Maybe tomorrow I'll let someone hold him… maybe Judeau—he gave me good advice."

"Well, for tonight, we should at least let them see what he looks like." Casca said. "Okay?"

"…Fine." Guts muttered reluctantly.

"Alright, boys! You can come in two at a time to look at him—we don't care what order." Casca looked over at Guts and grinned. "But Guts says no one gets to hold him until tomorrow."

"Maybe! I said _maybe_ tomorrow." Guts corrected earnestly.

They heard a struggle outside the tent before Pippin and Rickert burst in. Corkus could be heard cursing outside. Apparently, someone had punched him in the nose.

Rickert and Pippin grinned down at the little tyke.

"He's so cute!" Rickert said. "What are you gonna name him?"

Guts and Casca looked at each other.

"We were thinking of… Griffith." Casca said.

Griffith had died of a fever a few months after they rescued him from Windham's dungeons. His body was so weak that he couldn't take the cold. He had died peacefully in his sleep. Guts and Casca had been with him, caring for him in his very last moments. Guts had blamed himself, Casca had been devastated... It had been hard on the Hawks—really hard. Many of the members of the band had left shortly after. Those that stayed followed Casca. They had made their way to a new country to escape Midland, whose king was still very much inclined to wipe them from existence. When it became clear that Casca was pregnant, Judeau had urged them both to leave, but they had refused. Guts had insisted that since he had grown up in a mercenary camp, there was nothing wrong with his kid doing the same (though that logic was a bit flawed, considering). Judeau had asked them if they stayed because they felt it their duty. As unfair as it was, many of the Hawks had tried to pressure them into leadership. They had eased his worries. They told him they'd both recognized it at some point: the Hawks were their family. They couldn't leave them behind so easily.

After all the hawks had come and gone, the couple lay back on their shared pallet. Guts had the new baby on his chest, asleep. He kissed the precious little bundle softly on the head and put his arm around Casca, drawing her close to his side. "We're gonna have more of these, right?"

* * *

 _*Phew* So! This is my first time writing fan fiction, and it only happened because the wait for Berserk is killing me slowly. Please tell me what you think! Of course putting the characters in a slightly different environment will change their personalities to some degree, but if you see anything that seems glaringly out of character, let me know. Most of these will be light hearted. I love the darkness of Berserk, but at the same time, there's a part of me that fantasizes about Guts and Casca having a happy life together instead of... well, what life is like for them right now. Anyway, hope you enjoy!_


	2. Wound of the Heart

**Wound of the Heart**

* * *

The crunching of bone against bone.

A burning sensation just under the skin.

Vision momentarily darkened.

Throbbing pain.

The metallic taste of blood.

Being struck in the face gave one all of these sensations. Guts could recall all of them with ease—he'd been struck many times. But in this moment, it wasn't the physical pain of being struck that was impressed upon his mind, nor was it pain from any old blow. It was the non-physical pain and hurt associated with being struck by someone you loved—someone you only wanted to please.

Guts held his newborn son in his arms. He stared at the little bundle—looking at his black hair like Casca's, his large dark eyes trying to perceive. He moved in Guts' grasp, testing out his tiny arms and fingers, cooing softly. The baby didn't usually cry when Guts held him. Casca said it was because infants feel most secure when people with large hands hold them. That made Guts happy, because he wanted his son to always feel secure—to feel loved and cherished and valued. He wanted to watch him grow—to be there when he uttered his first words; when he took his first steps; when he first laughed.

Guts rocked his son in his arms to send him off to sleep, and he didn't understand anymore.

He couldn't understand why a parent would want to hit their own child.

"You sure are quiet." Casca commented as she sat at the desk in their tent, mending a leather strap on her breastplate by candlelight.

She looked up when Guts didn't respond. He was staring at their three-day old son, rocking him back and forth, but there was something in the way his back was tensed, and his jaw set, that brought her concern. She rose from her chair and went to sit down next to him.

"Guts?" Casca said softly, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

His eyes were masked from hers. He kept staring at the baby.

She was beginning to think he wouldn't respond when his voice suddenly broke the heavy silence that had fallen on them.

"Gambino was an asshole." He said quietly, and nothing more.


	3. Family

**Family**

* * *

"Guts," Casca said as she rocked their crying son and tried to hush his cries. "He won't stop crying and I've tried everything I can think of. Do you have any ideas?"

It was the middle of the night, and the baby had been bawling uncontrollably for the last five minutes, waking up half the camp. Guts pulled the pillow off his head that he'd been using to try and muffle the noise. "He's got a set a' pipes, don't he?" He mumbled.

"I don't know what to do! He's not hungry, his diaper's not dirty, he doesn't need to be burped... Why won't he just _sleep_?" Casca asked, her voice terribly strained.

Guts blinked sleepily up at her. He could tell she was at her wits end. In truth, he really was too. For the past two weeks, the baby had woken them up every two to three hours with his cries. They'd been taking turns soothing him, but tonight was especially bad because of the compounded exhaustion they were both feeling. Guts rubbed his tired eyes and got up. "What can I do to help, Casca?" He asked. "Do you want me to take him outside so you can sleep for a bit?"

Casca shook her head and sniffed. "No...! You're already exhausted from fighting all day the last three days and being kept up too... And I should have been out there with you and the others—fighting! I just wish he would sleep through the night _one_ time!"

"Hey..." Guts said, taking her by the shoulders. "Don't get stressed out 'cause of me. And don't feel guilty for not fighting. You've still been leadin' and plannin' and worryin' from the rear, and you're not back in fighting shape yet. You just had a baby for goodness sake."

"I just wish I could do this one thing right! I just can't seem..." Tears stung her eyes as Griffith continued to whine. "I was never meant to be a mother!" She blubbered.

"Hey...!" Guts whispered, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "You just feel this way right now 'cause you're so tired." He yawned when he said that word. "Every baby cries like this early on, right? Isn't that what the midwife told us?"

"You're right... You're right..." Casca hiccupped. "I just... I'm so tired, Guts!"

He held her tighter and rocked her back and forth, about ready to fall asleep standing up. "It's gonna get easier..." He mumbled.

"Um, may friends enter the tent?" A voice called from outside.

Guts sighed exhaustedly and looked at Casca as she wiped her eyes and frantically tried to hush the baby. He hoped they weren't coming to complain about the noise. Casca had been working her ass off despite their new baby. He had literally had to stop her from coming to watch the past days battle with Griffith in her arms. She was convinced that she was failing the men by not being in battle with them and a simple noise complaint would be enough to send her over the edge. "What is it, Judeau?" He called out, trying as best he could to keep his eyes open.

Judeau pulled back the tent flap and walked in followed by Rickert, Pippin, and Corkus. All four of them had to stop a moment to take in what they saw. They had noticed the couple starting to unravel the past few days, but they never realized it was this bad. Casca's eyes were bloodshot—as if she needed to sleep but all the worries of the world were crashing down on her and she was about to rip her own hair out. She stared at them with forcefully wide eyes as she bounced her wailing son up and down in her arms. Guts still had his arms around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. He was still rocking her back and forth, and now he was humming—as if he was so tired he thought Casca was the baby and he was trying to rock her to sleep. He was doing a better job of sending himself to sleep. His eyes were closed and there were dark circles under them. He looked like he might fall over any moment. Both of them looked unkempt—their hair disheveled and their clothes dirty and wrinkled. Their tent was in shambles as well: trash and clothes and armor littered the floor, creating a miserable backdrop to the already desolate scene; the baby's continued cries a perfect soundtrack.

Judeau smiled. "The joys of parenthood, eh?"

Guts opened a tired eye and glowered to make it clear that he was not amused.

"Did you come to gawk at the inexperienced parents in their native habitat?" Casca asked, clearly just as annoyed as Guts.

"Actually, we came here to rescue you." Judeau replied jovially.

"Eh?" Guts raised an eyebrow.

Judeau sighed and rested one hand on each parent's shoulder. "We're taking care of the baby for the night." He said.

"Huh?"

"You've both been working so hard it's the least we can do!" Rickert said.

"W-wait, but... I don't know if..." Casca began.

"I know he doesn't look it, but Corkus is really good with kids. He basically raised his younger siblings, and he has eight of them. Every kid loves Pippin, and Rickert is still a kid himself." Judeau said. "The four of us are more than capable of watching him for the night."

"Still... You all need your rest too..." Casca mumbled.

"Not nearly as much as you and Guts do!" Rickert exclaimed. "You both seem totally exhausted, and you're both leaders! It's really important that you be well rested or you'll get sick, and then where will we be?"

"Besides, among the four of us, we can take turns resting through the night." Judeau offered.

"Yeah, but—" Guts began.

"Keh! No more arguments!" Corkus said roughly. He took the baby out of Casca's arms and suddenly became all smiles and tenderness. "There-there, little guy... You're probably just cryin' 'cause you know your dad's a nut job... I would cry too..." The baby started to calm almost immediately.

The mercenary couple gawked at the sight.

"Corkus... feel free to babysit anytime." Casca said bewilderedly.

"I second that." Guts said with relief.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm doing this for you, Guts!" Corkus said with a predictable scowl, glaring daggers at the Raiders' captain before turning his attention back on the baby.

Guts grinned tiredly. In truth, he was so used to Corkus' insults that he was offended if the man _didn't_ say something ugly to him. He looked at Casca. "We do need the sleep... you especially."

Casca blushed, flattered that their friends were willing to do this for them, then nodded sheepishly at Guts.

The new father looked at Judeau. "Well, the boss agrees." He said with a shrug and the slightest hint of relief.

"Good. Come with me." The man replied, stepping out of the tent. Casca and Guts looked at each other, then followed him out into the night.

"Pippin and I pitched a tent far away from camp where it's quiet, and we want the two of you to sleep there tonight." He pointed up the hill to a solitary tent, a candle lit within shined through the canvas. It looked peaceful against a backdrop of stars and trees.

"We packed it with food and anything else you might need, so there's no reason for either of you to step outside. We don't want you to come out of there tomorrow. In fact, we'll come get you when you're allowed to leave. Understand?" Judeau said, laughing a little to offset the fact that one of the people he was ordering around was technically his commander.

"But what if—" Casca began.

"If we really need you, we'll come get you." Judeau assured her. "We have milk diluted to feed the baby when he gets hungry."

Guts smiled under eyes that were prepared to drop closed all on their own. "Thank you so much, Judeau."

"Yes... _really_." Casca said, the exhaustion becoming evident in her voice as her worries subsided.

The mercenary waved his hand. "It's the least we can do. You know... we'd all be dead if it weren't for your leadership Casca, and your insane strength, Guts. Just do us all a favor and get some rest." He said as he walked away.

The couple made their way up to the tent, Casca's eyes gradually drooping as the prospect of peaceful sleep neared. Guts had passed that point long ago, and was ready to pass out on the hill. When they walked inside, they saw a bottle of wine on the table with the candle, along with a bowl full of fruit and bread. Across the floor, a large pallet cushioned with what looked like sheep skins was spread, and warm blankets were folded and stacked beside. They really had thought of everything.

"Where'd they get all of this?" Guts wondered.

At the moment, Casca didn't care. With a groan she dropped face first on the pallet. " _Holy See_... It's so comfortable..." She said through a mouth being smothered by pillows. "Get down here and feel this..."

Guts blew out the candle and lowered himself down on the pallet beside her. He couldn't deny that his muscles and joints were aching from battle, and the pallet was quite comfortable.

Casca snuggled up against his side. "Mm... I love Griffith, but I've been missing spending time with just you..."

"Yeah..." Guts agreed, yawning as he turned over on his side and wrapped his arm around her. He closed his eyes, but his cloudy mind somehow remembered there was something he needed to say. "Casca... you're a great mother. You know that, right?" He said in a voice that sounded drunk. "I know what bad parents are like, and you ain't one. You love Griffith, and that's what matters most..."

Casca smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Guts." She said softly.

He grinned at her kiss. "Uh-huh..." He half snored.

Casca was still for a moment, looking at him intently. Somehow, he looked so sweet when he was half asleep. "You know..." She said, biting her lip, "It's been at least a month..."

Guts opened an eye, suddenly a little more awake than before. "Oh, believe me. It's been longer than that."

"We're out of earshot..." She added.

"The baby's not here..." Guts lifted his head.

They stared at each other a moment longer, then both groaned and buried their heads in the pillows.

"I'm too tired..."

"So am I. I never thought I'd say this, but sleep sounds so much better than sex right now."

"Besides... there's... always tomorrow morning..."

Guts and Casca slept like rocks through the night and most of the next day, snuggled up against each other. When they awoke, they felt refreshed for the first time in over a week. The Hawks commanders made it a point from then on to occasionally take charge of young Griffith and force the couple to get some rest. They usually resisted—it was in both of their natures to try and do everything themselves. But eventually, they learned to accept help. They were young adults (neither of them yet twenty) who'd been on the battlefield most of their lives. Caring for a baby was difficult—especially when neither knew much about children. But they loved their son, and they loved each other, and even if they were frequently tired, as long as they had a little help, they could make it. They weren't just a family of three after all—they were a family of hundreds. The Hawks were their family, always ready to lend a hand.

* * *

 _Yeah, I know... That last paragraph is cheesy AF. But then again, all of these are cheesy, especially given how dark Berserk actually is._

 _Speaking of which, if you didn't know, the manga's off hiatus and **releasing monthly!** The end of the boat is in sight!_

 _I have a few more stories in the works that I'm going to add, but if anyone has any story ideas, I'm always open to suggestions!_


	4. Chaste Kisses Part I

This _one and the next one (Chaste Kisses Part II) take place before the baby is born, so don't get confused. The focus of these two stories are Guts and Casca's relationship, but the baby is mentioned in both so I decided to post them here rather than separate them out. Sorry that they're out of order! One day I might reorder them but I think I'll wait until this collection is finished—mostly because I'm still thinking of ideas... Anyways, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chaste Kisses Part I**

* * *

In the privacy of her tent, Casca laid against Guts' chest and let him hold her in his arms. Her stomach was churning, her head felt like it was going to explode, and she couldn't break the urge to cry. She listened to Guts' quiet and steady breathing and tried to quell the melancholy of her thoughts. She closed her eyes and felt the rise and fall of his chest. Guts was warm and his embrace was secure. His presence comforted her—made her feel that maybe everything would be alright. Guts was so much stronger than her… two weeks since Griffith died and he was done with tears and regrets.

Casca sighed. "I'm sorry Guts… I should already be done mourning, shouldn't I?"

The man below lifted his hand and placed it on her head, running his fingers through her short strands of hair. "It's okay, Casca." He said softly.

Somehow, his understanding, gentle tone made Casca want to cry more. She sniffed and buried her head in his shirt, wetting it with silent tears.

She felt ashamed to still be so distraught when Guts was already done mourning, but she also felt guilty. She felt guilty for crying over Griffith in front of Guts, because it suggested that he was more to her than valuable friend and venerated leader. For years, he had been more than that. Griffith had consumed her thoughts with his presence—with his hand on her shoulder, with his soft and reassuring smile. She had wanted to be by his side—to be trusted and loved by him. But he never really trusted her, or anyone else—not with his heart. He was incapable of being vulnerable. He hid what he felt and trusted no one with his true feelings. When Guts had come into her life as a friend and then a lover, he had revealed a softer and more vulnerable part of his soul—a part of himself that she'd angrily assumed didn't even exist when they first met. He had yielded his heart to hers and told her things that she knew he had never been willing to tell anyone else. He dared to trust her in a way that Griffith never had and never would. She knew Guts' heart was cautious—that he had been hurt badly and he was afraid of rejection. Her guilt came from the fear that she might inflict further injury on his wary heart by crying now.

Casca wrapped her arms around Guts' waist and hugged him tightly. "I… I don't want you to think that I… wouldn't cry just as much over you..." She choked.

"What do you mean?" He asked quietly, continuing to stroke through her hair.

"I'm afraid that because I'm still crying," She choked back a sob and her lips trembled. "…you'll think that I love him more than I love you."

"Casca…" Guts said with sympathy and tenderness, moving slowly to turn them both over, so that she lay below him. He wiped her teary cheeks with his thumb, and Casca saw the compassion in his eyes when he smiled at her sadly.

"I love you, Guts. I really do… More every day." More tears flowed down Casca's cheeks. "I don't want you to leave me… just because I can't stop crying." She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Guts let her sob for a few moments, then took her small hands in his large ones and gently pulled them away from her face. "I'm not going to leave you, Casca." He said, before pressing a chaste kiss on her right hand. "I," He kissed her other hand. "Love," He kissed her on the nose. "You." He smiled at her caringly.

Casca hiccupped and cried some more, but the anxiety in her heart died with his sweet smile.

Any time they had argued in the last month, Griffith was the figure at the center of that argument. He had been a source of turbulence in their relationship for years and as lovers, that turbulence didn't die—only changed form. There were terrible shouting matches between them: jealousy, insecurity, anger, stress, blame, and guilt twisted together and had nearly torn them apart in the months that they cared for their former leader. They said things they didn't mean because of their grief. The love they felt for each other only made their arguments more intense and hurtful. Fighting with Guts was stressful and infuriating—only adding to Casca's concerns over her leadership, how they would make it out of Midland alive, and… the life she found out she was carrying inside of her. She hadn't told him yet, because by the time she found out, Griffith was already sick—already dying—and it wasn't the right time. She couldn't deny that she also feared what his reaction would be. Would he be frightened? Troubled? … _Happy?_ She was afraid that if she told him, he might feel obligated to stay with her—even if he didn't really want to. She wanted to cling to Guts, be held by him, be loved by him—but not if he didn't want the same thing—not if he wanted to leave.

More tears slipped quietly down her cheeks. "You wanted to cut a path for yourself with your sword… what happened to that dream?" She asked. The question of why he was still here had been burning in the back of her mind for weeks. He had said he would stay only until the Hawks got back on their feet, but they were now safely outside of the king's grasp, and still he stayed by her side. Still, he cared for her and comforted her—even though it hadn't been easy, the world with all of its sparks waited.

Guts let his eyes fall on her hands still in his. "I set out to find my own dream in the first place because I wanted him to call me his friend. But now he's gone, and I guess I've realized lately that maybe…" He bit his lip, and then looked at her. "All I wanted was… a family."

Casca's heart skipped a beat.

Guts put his hand on her cheek. "You and the Hawks _are_ that family. I was just too stupid to see it." He said.

Casca rested against his hand and the anxiety that had been building in her for months began to calm. "What about fighting stronger and stronger opponents to build your skills? What about making sparks?" She asked quietly.

Guts frowned thoughtfully. "Well… I make plenty of sparks with you." He offered, grinning at her devilishly.

Casca couldn't help but laugh a little.

"But in all seriousness, I don't wanna leave anymore." He said, his brows suddenly furrowed. "I thought there wouldn't be any battles that I wanted, but that Black Dog Knight freak sure proved me wrong… besides, we could still travel together. Judeau could hold down the fort long enough for you to take a break from leadership, at least now that we're safe from the damn king trying to kill us."

"Hmm… Like a vacation?" Casca sighed and smiled. "That actually sounds really nice."

Guts smiled back and started trailing kisses down her face and neck.

"It'd be best to go now or wait a few months, though…" Casca said softly—unsurely.

"How come?" Guts asked between kisses.

"…Because your family's about to get a little bit… bigger."

Guts stopped and sat up on his knees, his eyes wide. "Waddya mean, Casca?" He asked.

Her heart pounded. "…I'm pregnant." She said, her eyes widening as well to best gauge his reaction. She could hardly believe she'd actually said it.

"P-pregnant…" He repeated, almost inaudibly.

Casca sat up and bit her thumb in anxiety, fearing that it was all wrong—that she shouldn't have told him. There were so many things he must be thinking. Their relationship was so new, they fought all the time, and the news was completely unexpected. And how would Guts feel about being a father? Would it scare him, considering his past? Guts was still staring at her with that same look of shock, and Casca prepared to say something—anything—to kill the silence: Tell him it would be okay, that he didn't have to stay if he didn't want to, that... that...!

Guts laughed suddenly, and put his hand over his mouth. "My god…" His eyes misted. "We're gonna be parents!"


	5. Chaste Kisses Part II

**Chaste kisses Part II**

* * *

Guts loved being with Casca. He loved the feeling of her warm, smooth skin pressed against his, the feel of her cheeks and lips and breasts and arms and every single piece of her. And he loved these things on their own, but it was the woman they belonged to who set his heart on fire—who he delighted in being with as one. Her smiles, her doe-eyed expressions, her confidence and strength, her love. There was a peace found with her that couldn't be experienced anywhere else—an intimacy that he needed and longed for and finally found with her. He loved to please her because he loved her. He loved to see her lost in his actions and to lose himself in her too, because he trusted her so deeply that he could let go and sink with her into another world—a paradise. But every so often, he was unexpectedly yanked up from that peaceful bliss, and nightmares trespassed on the sacred ground of their bed. In those moments, Guts could suddenly smell Donovan's stench, and feel his breath on his neck, and hear his pants and grunts, and feel the sharp pain of him inside. Instead of feeling her warm and caring touch, suddenly Guts felt sweaty, fat hands touching him all over, caressing him, pinning him down, beating him with terrible blows when he resisted, yanking him close after hours of violation and holding him tightly in sleep while he sobbed in fear and disgust and despair and wished to die.

He would suddenly jerk away from Casca, his breath coming in gasps and sweat dripping down his face, his eyes full of terror and his arms trembling as they wrapped themselves tightly around his body to help protect it from anyone and everyone's touch.

Four months into their relationship marked the sixth time it happened.

Casca had come to recognize the way his body tensed in the midst of a flashback, and she knew better than to remain anywhere near him when one occurred. He hadn't hurt her since their first time, but Casca never risked the chance. She scrambled out from under him and stared cautiously at his completely still form from a safe distance. After a few moments, with his features hidden in the darkness of their tent, she dared whisper his name. "Guts?"

He shivered suddenly, as if shaking off a sense of dread, and then exhaled. "I-I'm fine." He said shakily, his chest heaving.

Casca sighed in relief and crawled back over to him while he got back his breath. She wouldn't touch him—she would sit very near and wait until he was ready, even though she always wanted instantly to embrace him.

Guts wheezed and tried desperately to stop shaking. Finally, after several minutes, he calmed enough, and looked at Casca, her eyes full of concern in the moonlight steeling in through the crack of the tent opening. He hated worrying her. He hated scaring her like this. He just wanted everything to be fine. "I'm okay now..." He said, "L-let's keep going."

Casca shook her head slowly. "You're rushing yourself again. You need to give yourself more time."

Guts laughed a little. "I'm fine, Casca." He said more easily, but Casca knew what he sounded like when he lied. Even if she didn't, his fingers still shaking slightly and his eyes still wide betrayed him.

"Guts." She said firmly but gently. "You're not fine."

Guts watched her stern gaze—that gaze that pierced through him—that knew him almost better than he knew himself. He bit his lip, wanting to argue with her but knowing it was pointless—that she was right and he wasn't ready. He needed to take a moment, however much he didn't want to. He did not want a repeat of their first time. He closed his eyes and sighed, then fell back against the blankets, covering his face with his hands.

Casca gave him a few moments before laying down beside him and letting her hand rest in his hair. She scratched his scalp soothingly, and for a moment he ignored the turbulence within and just let himself enjoy the sensation. "It's okay, Guts." Casca said gently.

Guts' teeth gritted. "No it's not!" He hissed, his eyes still buried under his hands.

Casca was not perturbed. She leaned down by his ear. "Yes it is." She said decidedly—in a way that refused to allow his doubts.

Guts clenched his jaw and took in a jagged breath. Four months. Four damn months, and still that fat pig bastard screwed with Guts' head. He hated it. He hated it with a passion! He hated it more and more, because his patience with himself was dwindling to nothing and he was convinced Casca's must be too. She was still scratching his scalp, still trying to lend comfort, and he wanted to believe that she loved him even still. But after four months, the memory of that dark shadow pinning him down still occasionally came between them. That darkness from his past was in his way—in _their_ way. How could she possibly continue to love him through this? ...How could anyone?

Casca kissed him on the head. "It's okay, Guts." She said again.

Guts squeezed his eyes shut, trying to believe. He often struggled with the idea of being loved despite his failures and fears. As a boy, his worth was based solely on his performance: if he fought well, Gambino sometimes offered appreciation in the form of a smile or a coin tossed his way. If he fought poorly, he was derided and beaten. It was hard for him to accept that the same didn't apply to all relationships, and he felt like a failure this night in their bed. How could she love him, when he couldn't even love her back properly? "I'm sorry, Casca." He choked.

The fingers in his hair went still, and he sensed Casca move to lean over him. Soft hands took his rough ones and pulled them gently away from his face. Guts sighed and looked up at her, his face sullen and his eyes glassy.

Casca looked back at him intently, a soft sadness in her features. She was seeing Guts' vulnerable side—the damaged part of himself that he laid bare before her alone. This was the quietly suffering Guts who seized her chest with a need to comfort—to bring healing.

"I said I wanted to have you thousands of times, but I can't stop freezing up…" He said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Guts was normally so strong—so fierce. He was usually the one comforting her. Despite the grief she felt for him in these moments, they gave her the opportunity to return the care he showed her, and she appreciated that. She ran her thumbs along his knuckles and spoke softly. "You never have to apologize to me for this. Not _ever_." She pressed a chaste kiss against his right hand, then his left, and pressed a final one against his nose.

Guts smiled at her lightly, though a little uncertainly. He recognized the gesture.

Casca took his face in her hands and put her forehead against his. "I love you." She said, looking down at him with dreamy eyes, brushing his face with her dark lashes.

When their relationship had first begun, Casca had been shy and uncertain in herself. But daily, that shyness and uncertainty was overcome by her natural boldness. As she grew more confident that she wanted their relationship, she grew more confident in her position as Guts' anchor. He needed her in ways that no one had ever needed her before, giving her a chance to display and explore some of her dormant qualities. They were both usually bold (and often drove each other up the wall for that reason), but when one of them felt weak, the other could be strong. Casca committed herself to being the strong one this night—the one who gently assured. She peppered Guts' face with kisses then nestled up against him and held him in a tight hug. She smiled slightly as her sense of purpose crystallized. This was a man to whom she could give, and not just receive. She'd been searching for this her whole life.

Guts closed his eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the warmth of her body against his. He could no longer doubt her soothing voice, her caring touch, her comforting embrace. They hadn't been together very long, but already he couldn't imagine his life without her. He had told her so many things about his past—things that he thought he'd never be able to tell anyone. He hadn't even realized how broken he was until she had exposed him and started to piece him back together. Sometimes it was painful. There were some pieces he didn't want her to see because they were so damaged. There were some pieces that he wanted to hide and forget about forever and that he fought her for trying to heal. But Casca always managed to expose what he hid, and she never recoiled from what she found. She accepted Guts' past for what it was, and held him close, and told him that she loved him. She had done so much for him, and he loved her so much, and he just wished….

His jaw tightened. "I've been with you four months, and still these stupid memories... I just want to be over it."

Casca sat up and shook her head at him. "Guts... four months isn't enough for ten years worth of pent up trauma. Don't have unrealistic expectations of yourself. This is still very new—for both of us. Give yourself time."

Guts sighed. He wondered how Casca could be so patient, when for him this was agonizing. He loved being embraced by Casca, being comforted by her. No one had ever showed him the kind of care that she lavished on him in heaps. But he didn't want it to be like this forever. He wanted to be able to love her and please her and think only about her when they were together—not about something grotesque that had happened long ago. He wanted what they had to be pure and untainted by dark memories. He placed his hand on her swelling belly and furrowed his brows in determination. "By the time our baby is born, I want to be done with this." He said.

"Guts," Casca said softly, "that's not necessarily something you can just decide."

"I know." Guts said. "But I'm deciding it anyway."

Casca smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "Well… for tonight, just remember that you are loved." She whispered, laying her head against his chest. "Just rest in my love."


	6. The Changing

**The Changing**

* * *

The one month old stared up at his father from his position on the table. He was laying down on top of a blanket, waiting.

 _Why does he have to look at me like that?!_

Griffith was staring at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Guts' mouth twisted into a strange frown. _What's with that trusting expression? Is he stupid or something?_

He heard a deep and impatient sigh over his shoulder. "Guts," Casca said, "stop acting like you're dealing with gunpowder."

"Shh!" Guts responded, keeping his eyes locked on their baby in what had turned into a very long staring contest.

"...This better not be some stupid attempt to gain sympathy so I won't make you help out."

Guts scowled. "S-stop standing over my shoulder!" He hissed. "It makes me nervous when you hover!"

Casca scoffed. "Says the man who's constantly hovering over his friends to make sure they handle his child exactly right, every. single. second."

"Well, they're not always careful enough!" Guts whispered defensively.

"Guts. He's awake. Stop whispering when there's no reason to. It's not like your voice is going to make his eardrums burst."

"Would you please just go?" Guts begged, still whispering. "You're making me nervous!"

Casca groaned. If his overprotective attitude lasted any longer, she thought she just might slaughter him in his sleep "Fine. I'm leaving." She said, striding over to the exit of their tent. "But I expect to see both of you by the cooking fire in the next five minutes. And this better be done."

She walked out, and Guts felt like he could breath a little bit more. "Okay, it's alright…" Guts said, nodding down at his baby. "I've got this…"

He winced as he reached very carefully for his cooing child.

Five minutes later, Casca was warming her hands by the fire when she heard boots crunching on the dirt. She turned to see Guts carrying their son carefully in his arms. Griffith sucked on his thumb and looked comfortable reclining in the crook of his father's elbow, dressed in his nightclothes.

Guts, on the other hand, looked as if he had been drained of all life.

"Really?" Casca asked with a raised eyebrow. "Was your first time changing a diaper that nerve-wracking, Guts?"

The young father frowned and kept his eyes on his son. "It was fine."

Casca's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute… I didn't hear him cry. He always cries. You didn't wipe him, did you?" She accused.

"Yes I did! He just didn't cry."

Casca studied his face closely, looking for a lie. "Let me see him."

Guts scoffed, but walked over to her and transferred the baby carefully into her arms.

Casca lifted their son a little and checked his diaper. "Hn… you did wipe him." She glanced up at Guts before handing the boy back over to him. "He always cries when I wipe him."

Guts shrugged. "Well, he just didn't this time, okay?" He said, pulling their son back back against his chest very, very slowly—as if the child would snap if he moved too quickly.

A thought suddenly struck Casca as she watched him.

 _No… that's impossible! There's no way he hasn't..._

She tried to dismiss the thought, but she knew if she didn't say anything, the question would keep her up all night.

"Guts…" She finally asked, "Have you ever made Griffith cry?"

Guts' eyes snapped up to hers instantly. He looked like a child caught stealing a piece of chocolate.

"Holy See." She said with wide eyes. "You haven't, have you?"

Guts shuffled on his feet. "Maybe… not…" He mumbled.

Casca stared at him for a few seconds before she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Guts growled softly as he rocked their baby. He turned away from her a little so her laughing wouldn't pull the descending sleep from the baby's eyes.

"Guts," Casca said finally, wiping tears from her eyes. "Is your plan… is your plan really to never make Griffith cry?"

Guts' cheeks flushed a bright red. "S-so what if it is?"

"Guts!" Casca said, looking up at him in utter bewilderment and shaking her head back and forth. "Babies cry over everything. _Literally_ everything. Sometimes they cry for no reason at all."

"Well, he's never gonna cry 'cause of me!" Guts said decidedly.

"Guts…"

"I'm never gonna make him cry, Casca. Not ever."

* * *

 _Ha ha... Yeah. This will come back up again._

 _Thanks for all the reviews! I am truly honored by y'alls interest in these silly short-stories, and am glad I'm not the only one who enjoys gratuitous sappiness._


	7. The Fall

_So I try to be silly, but my last fic was so silly that I couldn't leave it in all its unresolved ridiculousness. Here's my attempts to salvage it for myself. :P_

* * *

 **The Fall**

* * *

Time seemed to stand still as the baby launched through the air—subjecting the five men in the room to every harrowing detail of the treacherous descent the child was making toward the floor. Guts stared as his son descended, and yet he couldn't move—he was frozen in place. He felt like his ears were pounding as the baby's body dropped onto the ground and bounced up a little, before settling completely. His heart slammed against his chest as a million thoughts of injury and pain ran through his mind. Still, he couldn't move. _His son was on the floor but he couldn't make himself move to pick him up._ He watched as Griffith's face contorted into a blubbering frown and he started wailing. Guts couldn't take his eyes off of the boy as he cried—cried because Guts had dropped him on the floor. He was vaguely aware of the other officers in the tent—Rickert rushed forward and picked up the baby. He said something Guts didn't hear—couldn't process. All Guts could hear was his son's cries echoing through his head.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were drifting over to a new noise. He watched as Corkus pointed at him and laughed—the noise mingling with the sounds of his baby's cries until finally the wails died, and all there was to hear was Corkus' laughter, which had brought the alcoholic merc nearly to tears.

The world suddenly crashed back into focus and Guts could hear Corkus speaking.

"Look at this dumbass!" Corkus guffawed. "He can't even process what just happened!"

"Corkus!" Rickert hissed, glaring at his fellow mercenary as he patted the baby's back. The child had been shocked by the fall rather than actually hurt, and he was already calming down again. Still, Corkus' outburst was incredibly inappropriate.

"Shaddap!" Corkus shouted. "I've had enough of Guts' overprotective attitude!" He sniggered again. "Oh, the timing was priceless! He was just telling you to hold his son carefully and he tripped and dropped him right on the floor! That's what happens when a thick-skulled brute tries to be delicate and careful! Once again, the universe proves that Guts 'The One Hundred Man Killer' can't do anything but swing a sword! Why someone like him thought he could make it through parenting without dropping a kid is beyond me!"

 _"Corkus!"_ Rickert said more forcefully.

"What?" Corkus scowled and rolled his eyes. "The kid's fine! It's not like—"

Corkus was normally the first to laugh and the last to stop laughing when something went wrong for Guts. In fact, he had spent years trying to draw some kind of reaction from Guts with snide comment after snide comment after snide comment. Much to his infuriation, he had never succeeded in drawing anything but a slight frown from the teenager. But now, as he looked at the captain, his words died in his throat. He could see his words had finally hit the mark, but rather than feeling triumphant, he felt like a complete jackass.

Guts looked utterly heartbroken. He didn't make eye contact with anyone in the room—especially not his son. He bit his lip, sighed to steady his breathing, and then walked out of the tent quickly without a word.

Corkus felt a sharp pain in his arm as Rickert smacked him. "Corkus! I know you don't get along with Guts, but that was such a nasty thing to say!"

"You need to apologize." Judeau cut in. His normally whimsical expression was covered by a dark scowl as he looked at his fellow officer with a mixture of disappointment and irritation. "Casca trusted us to help Guts in her absence. You _know_ how nervous he's been around his son lately, and you just made it even worse. I've never complained about your behavior toward Guts before because it doesn't seem to bother him, and sometimes, there's a grain of truth in what you say. But tonight, you _really_ crossed a line."

"I… I didn't mean…!" Corkus began.

"Go say you're sorry!" Rickert shouted. "Now!"

Corkus blinked at Rickert, shocked by his righteous fury. He knew he probably should apologize, but the pride inside him fought his conscience, and he grit his teeth in defiance. "Wh-why should I? It's about time he pulled his head out of his ass and—" He squealed when he realized Pippin was pounding toward him from across the tent. He threw his arms over his head and squeezed his eyes shut, his body preparing to receive a blow.

Instead, Pippin picked him up as if he were the size of a puppy, and tossed him out the door.

Corkus felt a rush of relief before his cheeks reddened in humiliation. "What the hell, Pippin?" He growled.

"You can come back after you apologize." The big man said.

Corkus fumed and grit his teeth. _Dammit!_ He had spent years being as much of an ass to Guts as possible, and he couldn't just switch gears and be all buddy-buddy— _"so sorry I hurt your precious feelings."_ After a second, though, he recalled the look on Guts' face, and felt another wave of guilt wash over him.

It was true the swordsman had been painfully tense ever since Casca had left on Hawk business that morning. Even before that, he'd become increasingly tense around his son. When he held him, his shoulders were rigid with tension, and even the baby was starting to realize it. What the hell was wrong with the fool, Corkus didn't know. But he had probably made things worse, and since Guts' behavior had already been irritating the mess out of him, he was not keen on the idea of making it even worse. Besides, if Casca found out about this...

 _Gahd-dammit._ He had to apologize—and to Guts of all people. _Abso-fuckin-beautiful._

Everyone in the Band of the Hawk knew that Guts liked to walk up to high places when he wanted to be alone—which was fairly often. What the hell Guts thought about up on mountains or while sitting on roofs or tree limbs Corkus didn't know, nor did he really care. Guts had always been an enigma to him. He didn't like things he couldn't place, and Guts was one of those things. One moment he was laughing and drinking with his Raiders, and the next minute there was a dark look in his eyes and he wanted to be alone. He'd take his sword somewhere far off and practice for hours—as if there was nothing else in the world but his sword. Of course, since the guy had come back from his year-long absence, that behavior had nearly stopped cold. Corkus shook his head, telling himself he didn't care why, and turned his eyes to the hilltop just before the tree line. Guts was sure to be up there somewhere. Corkus sighed. _I need a drink for this shit..._

Guts had retrieved his sword from his own tent, and had already worked up a sweat in the cool night air as he swung it up and down, trying to focus on the motion and push away the turbulence in his mind. Frustration with himself was tearing through him, and he grit his teeth in anger as he swung.

 _"Once again, the universe proves that Guts 'The One Hundred Man Killer' can't do anything but swing a sword!"_

His swing faltered, and he buried the blade in the ground in disgust. Swinging his sword had helped him calm down since he was just a little boy, but today he found himself looking at the weapon with resentment. He scowled and sat down on a log, taking his eyes off the blade, and stared down at his large and rough hands—the hands that his kid had dropped right out of.

The hands that had helped take far more life than they had helped secure.

He heard the crunch of grass—footsteps—and turned to see the last person he'd ever expected trudging up the hill toward him.

Corkus' face was set in a disgusted grimace (which was actually pretty typical), and his eyes were focused on anything but Guts. There were two bottles in his hands, and he tossed one to the Raiders' captain as he came to a stop.

Guts caught it by pure reflex and looked up at Corkus with a question in his eyes.

The older man scowled and pulled the cork out of his own beverage. "What are you lookin' at?!" He growled. Rickert's voice, already chiding him for something he hadn't even heard, ran through his mind and Corkus scowled. He wasn't doing a very good job at this. He took a long sip of his drink and glanced at the other end of the log. He didn't like standing close to Guts and he didn't want to be here, but at least if he sat down on the log he wouldn't have to look at the other man as much. Reluctantly, he trudged over and sat down—as far away from Guts as possible. "Are you gonna drink that, or not?" He asked impatiently.

Guts was no lightweight, but after his first sip he nearly spat out the drink all over the grass. He fought back the urge and gulped the stuff down, feeling the burn of alcohol trickling down his throat and into his stomach. "What the hell is this?" He asked, coughing.

"My own personal recipe. I need a strong drink if I'm going to talk to _you_." Corkus sneered.

Guts' eyes narrowed suspiciously at the beverage as he recalled Corkus threatening to poison him at _least_ once. Still, he doubted the man would ever go through with something like that. He took another swig.

"I'm supposed to… apologize to you." Corkus grumbled gruffly, staring off at the night sky.

Guts looked off to the side and scowled. "Don't bother." He said, his brows knitted together in frustration. "You were right. Almost every time you say anything about me you're right…" He muttered resentfully.

For some reason, it irritated Corkus that Guts had accepted his criticism so easily. He noted the way Guts' fists clenched in anger—anger that was directed at no one but himself.

Guts kept his eyes focused ahead. "'You can swing a sword, but you can't swing a woman.'" He quoted. He scoffed and looked down again. "Well… you might have been wrong about the woman in the end, but… Casca's not really like any other woman, is she? She's strong and tough and... understanding."

Corkus said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the terrain ahead.

"But our son…" Guts continued. He covered his face with his hand. "Our son is delicate and... _fragile._ His life… it could be snuffed out in an instant! The slightest chill could cause a fever that could kill him… He can't even hold his head up on his own. A grip too rough and…!" Guts faltered and shook his head.

Corkus raised an eyebrow. Guts' hands were shaking.

The imposing male looked down at his hands and tried to steady them as he continued. "His life could be snatched away so easily. And me… I'm supposed to... _protect_ him. Me, the guy who not once in his life has ever been accused of being the least bit gentle or delicate. The guy with the 'stone cold, intense, scowlin' mug' and tendency to lose his temper. Grown men have been afraid of me since I was a little boy. What the hell is a kid supposed to think of me?" Desperation and stress written all over his face, Guts looked down at his drink and suddenly took a huge gulp.

Corkus studied the raider seriously for a moment before shaking his head. "You're such an idiot…" He muttered through the neck of his bottle.

Guts looked over at him steadily, far too drained to even be hurt by the insult.

"You know, sometimes I get so caught up in my image of you as a _thoughtless knave_ that I forget how much you overthink: psychoanalyzing yourself until your blue in the face… just take another drink and forget about that shit." Corkus spat, illustrating his point with another sip. "You annoy the _fuck_ outta me. Twice you've quoted me in the last five minutes. What the hell are you remembering such old conversations for anyway? Such _bullshit_ …"

Corkus propped his foot up on the log and rested his arm on his knee. "Kids aren't as fragile as you seem to think they are. My dad was a brutish asshole and I survived." He snorted. "Barely." Realizing that probably wasn't very comforting, he struggled for more words. "Lots of parents drop their kids on accident. Hell, Casca's probably already dropped him and just didn't tell you because you've been acting like a hormonal old lady lately."

Guts ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Maybe I'm just imagining it, but lately, Griffith seems so uncomfortable when I hold him..."

Corkus looked heavenward, asking God why he bestowed on him the duty of comforting such a moron. "He looks uncomfortable because he _is_ uncomfortable. As soon as you stop acting like he's going to break, he'll stop feeling like he is."

"Really?" Guts asked hopefully.

"Just take my word for it and shut up."

Guts sighed again. "That actually makes sense. Casca keeps telling me I look like I'm holding a bomb when I carry him. I was just so afraid of hurting him, and it happened anyway..."

"Calm down." Corkus said, rolling his eyes. "The kid is _fine_. He weighs like, eight pounds. A little fall isn't going to do any damage, and kids are resilient little shits. They have to be, with parents like _you_ in existence."

Guts winced at his words, but strangely, found himself feeling a lot better about himself. "I guess I just..." He began, "I had this stupid idea in my head that if I could keep him from crying because of me, it meant maybe I wasn't too rough around the edges for parenting..."

"Keh! You moronic, childish _embecile_." Corkus spat. "You set an impossible goal that no parent could live up to, or even _should_. Every parent will make their kid cry at some point. If your kid never cries, how the hell is he going to learn _anything?_ Are you gonna be one of those parents who lets their kid get away with despicable shit because they're afraid to give 'em a spanking or yell at 'em? You went through shit as a kid, right? Everyone does." Corkus crossed his arms over his chest and held his head high. "Whether we like it or not, the things we go through make us who we are! They help us learn about the world. And sometimes, the world _sucks_. Everyone has to come to that conclusion at some point—even children. We can't protect them from everything or they won't be prepared for the shit that's out there when we die. We have to toughen them up—prepare them. A fall to the floor is exactly what a kid needs every once in a while—keeps 'em from getting too excited about life."

Guts frowned. Corkus was the most synical person he'd ever met, and he didn't really like the idea of his son learning some of the harsher lessons he had learned by experience. Still, there was truth in what Corkus was saying. He had no intention of being anything like his own father, but Gambino's lessons had prepared him for a lot of things he wouldn't have gotten through otherwise. Maybe there was something Gambino did vaguely right after all.

Corkus took a long gulp of his beverage. "Since I first met you, I hated you. You know that, everyone else knows it, it's just the way things are. Truth is, I've always thought you were dangerous." He narrowed his eyes hatefully at the younger man. "There's something about you that's dark and monstrous—lurking below the surface. No one ever recognized it but me, and I tried to make everyone else see it by making you angry. I thought if I could get a rise out of you, everyone would see what you are and we could finally be rid of your presence."

Guts stared into Corkus' black and cold eyes, and for the first time, he recognized what had always been hiding behind the man's fierce gaze: fear.

A moment later, Corkus scrunched up his nose and jerked his eyes away. "But not _once_ have I succeeded in goading you into conflict." He said quietly. "Not once have you… _fallen_ to my level."

Guts' eyes widened.

"I tried to get a rise out of you by hurting your pride. It's only recently I realized you don't really _have_ any. That's why you don't get mad when ridiculed." Corkus chuckled and took another swig. "You have the lowest self-esteem I've ever seen…"

Guts had no idea how to react to that. He didn't think that was true—at least not anymore—not since he took that year to himself.

"You _are_ dangerous. But you're not dangerous toward anyone you care about. You're only dangerous toward people who _hurt_ those you care about. That's why…" Corkus grit his teeth, as if his next words caused him physical pain. "You're actually more than decent father material... You could be a... _great_ father..." He grumbled.

Guts' eyes widened. "Corkus…" He began.

"Don't say anything!" The irritable merc growled, rising from his seat. Unable to leave the conversation on such a positive note, he whirled on Guts with a hateful glare. "Stop moping like a _little bitch_ and go tend to your kid! And don't you _dare_ think this means we're friends now or some shit, because I still _hate_ you as much as ever!"

Guts looked up at Corkus with a serious expression—genuine puzzlement written all over his face. But then suddenly, his thoughtful frown twisted into a broad grin. He was finally starting to figure Corkus out.

"Keh!" Corkus yanked his gaze away, grumbling something about Guts being such a freak that he couldn't even respond to an insult correctly. He finished off his drink as he staggered back down the hill.

Still back at the tent, Rickert was walking around the room with Griffith in his arms when he heard someone enter, and turned to see Guts. His blood nearly froze in his veins. Guts had been very particular lately about the way his kid was held—he didn't like anyone holding him unless they were sitting down. "Sorry!" Rickert said quickly, looking around frantically for a chair. "I just walked around with him to help him sleep. I promise I was careful with him!"

"It's okay, Rickert." Guts said easily.

Rickert took a good look at Guts and realized the formerly tense looking mercenary seemed perfectly laid back now. "Guts… are you… okay…?" He ventured to ask, hoping the man hadn't cracked.

Guts gave a rare smile. "Yeah." He said simply, knowing that if he said anything about his conversation with Corkus, the mercenary would die of embarrassment. Guts strode over to Rickert's side with his hands in his pockets, and peered over the young man's shoulder to get a look at his sleeping son.

"He okay?"

"Yeah! He wasn't hurt at all." Rickert assured him quickly.

Guts smiled at the little tyke. He was resting peacefully, as if nothing had happened. "Um… You mind if I take him back?"

Rickert looked at Guts in surprise, but smiled and lifted the child into his father's arms.

Guts picked Griffith up, and held him firmly. Before, he had been so tense and nervous around his son that he'd been afraid of holding him too tightly. That was how the child had fallen out of his hands. Now that he wasn't afraid of making his son snap, he could hold him with much greater confidence—and ironically, greater secrurity. He grinned down at the little boy, and for the first time in a while, he felt like his baby son really belonged in his grasp—rough voice and hold be damned.

"Honestly, I think he was just scared by the sudden fall. I mean, with parents like you and Casca, he's gotta be the toughest kid ever born."

Guts blinked. "Ya think so?"

Rickert laughed a little. "Definitely."

Guts smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. He's not so fragile as all that."

Rickert nearly gasped when Guts dropped a hand and held his son with only one arm. Of course, with how large Guts was, his son was perfectly secure that way, but Rickert had never seen him hold the boy so casually. Guts yawned and wiped his eyes with his free hand. "Well, I ain't waitin' up for Casca. I'm tired."

"Yeah… I bet you are." Rickert said with a smile. He made his way to the exit of the tent. "You know Guts," he said as he left, "you're gonna make an awesome dad."

Guts smiled. "Thanks." He looked down at his son contentedly as Rickert left the tent. "Maybe I'll teach you to swim the same way I learned after all..." He whispered to the boy quietly.

* * *

 _My 'Guts learns how to swim' headcannon : When Guts was three-years old, Gambino picked him up by the neck of his shirt and tossed him in the river. He learned to swim on pure instinct, and was upset until he heard Gambino grumble to his men that he was only trying to teach the kid how to swim. Guts still hasn't quite realized Gambino was a liar and really was trying to drown him._

 _P.S. Writing Corkus is so much fun... he's such an asshole._


	8. Rabbit

**Rabbit**

* * *

"Yeesh… The stitch job on that thing looks just as bad as the stitch job ya did on me after that battle…"

Casca smacked Guts—perhaps a little harder than she meant.

"Ow!" Guts growled, more out of irritation than genuine injury. He rubbed his shoulder as he sat cross-legged on the floor beside her. "Abusive… just pointing out the truth…"

"If you ever want a back scratch from me again, you'll keep the comments to yourself." Casca warned, continuing to run her needle through the cloth.

"I've never asked you to scratch my back." Guts retorted grumpily.

"Ha! But you love it when I do—admit it."

The twenty-year old muttered something incoherent in answer, unwilling to admit or deny, then curled up on the floor with a pillow.

Casca shook her head and hid a smile. Guts' normal state of being was fairly mature and serious, but he had been in a mood today—the mood where he was restless and did everything in his power to annoy the hell out of her. It was probably being cooped up in the tent that did it. It had been a while since they'd had a job, and it was raining outside, keeping him away from a long and grueling sword practice. While Casca had taken advantage of the rain as something of a day off by reading and working on her current project, Guts had nothing constructive to do while cooped up in the tent. He was still wearing the pants he slept in the night before, and hadn't bothered to put a shirt on all day. He had, however, taken a two-hour nap with the baby, rolled all over the floor, and tried to slowly pull strands of hair from Casca's scalp without her noticing. After failing miserably at the latter (and being screamed at), he had stared at his sword longingly for almost an hour, and now he was picking his nose.

"I'm glad I have you to prepare me for our child's adolescent years." Casca remarked without taking her eyes off her sewing.

Guts snorted. "Whatever…"

Casca continued working the strand of red thread through two pieces of cloth—one blue and the other yellow. The piece was actually turning out alright—the stuffing seemed to be sufficient, and while she might not be good at stitching, she was good enough to get the job done.

Casca blinked when she realized Guts had begun slowly shifting his body into her field of vision, stopping only when he was laying practically underneath his tan skinned companion.

Casca rolled her eyes. "I know you're bored and want some attention, but this is ridiculous. Please find a way to amuse yourself that doesn't include trying to distract me."

"I'm not trying to distract you."

Casca glanced at him and realized he was actually telling the truth. He seemed to be done acting childish (for now) and was focused quite intently on the work she was doing. He studied the different colors of fabric Casca had sewed together, stopping as he caught sight of the buttons she'd attached to the face. "So… you really had a doll that looked like this when you were a kid?" He asked.

"Yep. My mother made it for me when I was a little girl." Casca had to force a smile as she dredged up bittersweet memories. "I was too young to understand why my stomach felt empty all of the time, and so she made it to console me when I went to bed hungry."

"That really worked?" Guts asked, raising an eyebrow.

Casca smiled genuinely this time. "It did, believe it or not. After a while, I couldn't sleep without it—even if I went to bed full."

"Hmm…" Guts fell silent, content to watch her do her work.

"You didn't…" Casca started to ask, but then thought better of it. "…Never mind."

"What?" Guts asked, looking at her suspiciously.

Casca sighed and stopped sewing for a moment. "I was just going to ask… if you didn't have anything like that when you were a kid—one comforting and special thing—a toy, a blanket you liked, maybe?"

"I had a sword," Guts offered, idly fooling with the end of the string of Casca's sewing (ergo, already acting childish again).

"Stop that." Casca said, pulling the string away and getting back to her work. "So, nothing you slept with at night when you got scared?"

"I slept with my sword."

Casca stopped sewing again and looked at him. "What?"

Guts glanced up at her dispassionately. "Yeah. I slept with it." He said with a shrug. After a moment of Casca's silence, he glowered at her. "What are you lookin' at me like that for?"

"Because that might be the most depressing thing I've ever heard."

Guts scowled. "Whatever. You sleepin' with a stupid doll is the _lamest_ thing _I've_ ever heard. The hell's a stuffed animal gonna do if somebody tries to kill ya in the middle of the night, huh?"

Casca frowned. "Was there ever a time when you didn't worry about that?" She asked—almost desperately. Everything she'd learned of his childhood so far was unbelievably dark and hopeless.

Guts sighed. "Don't worry about it." He said dismissively. "I slept through the night a bunch of times without gettin' scared..." While he didn't mind talking to Casca about his past, she always tried to attack him with hugs afterward. He didn't normally mind that (he actually appreciated it more than he was willing to admit), but he wasn't feeling particularly open or introspective that day. He would much prefer to continue pestering her.

"That's not really what I was asking. I meant, was there ever a time in your life when you weren't… well, by yourself at night? I mean, at some point, you were too young to be expected to take care of yourself." Somehow, Casca couldn't picture Gambino changing Guts' diapers.

"I had a mother."

"I thought you never knew her."

"Naw, not my birth mother. I mean the lady who took care of me. Her name was Shisu."

Casca smiled when she saw a change in his looks at the name—one that told her Shisu had never done anything to hurt Guts. "What do you remember about her?"

Guts turned over on his side and sighed again. "Not much." He started plucking blades of grass from the ground. "I remember her holdin' me and singin' to help me fall asleep—fussin' over me a bunch too." Casca didn't miss the little smile that formed on his face at the memory of being cared for. It was similar to the smile he tried to hide when she scratched his back.

"That sounds nice," she said quietly.

Guts didn't want any more questions. He abruptly rolled back over and sat up. "I don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

Guts looked at the doll. "Why Griffith needs that thing. He ain't gonna go hungry or hafta worry about somebody attackin' him at night."

Casca tied off the end of the string and looked proudly at her finished work: a stuffed rabbit made from her and Guts' old clothes. Surprisingly, it really did look very similar to the one she had as a girl. "He doesn't need it." She admitted. "It's just something I want him to have, you know? Something from me... Also," She blushed slightly. "it's cute."

"Cute..." Guts repeated with a hint of loathing. _It's ugly as hell. He'll probably cry the moment he sees it._

"Would you like to sleep outside tonight?" Casca warned as she rose to her feet.

Guts scowled. "Whatever."

Casca grinned and shook her head at him, then turned her eyes toward the cradle Rickert had constructed for the baby. She strode over to look down at their little boy, pleased by the sight of him sleeping soundly.

Guts watched her carefully, and realized that however ugly and stupid the rabbit was to him, it really was important to her that their son have it. He could tell in the way she reached to place it in the crib with an almost ceremonial air.

He sighed and got to his feet. At the end of the day, it didn't matter whether or not he understood why the rabbit meant something to her. He figured there were a lot of things he wasn't going to understand about this—about parenting and being in a family. But what was important to Casca was important to him—even if he might joke around. He came up beside her just as their son stirred a little and grasped onto the soft fabric of the rabbit with his little fingers.

"Hmm… well… it looks a little less ugly next to him." Guts conceded.

"Oh?" Casca asked, turning to face him.

"Yeah." Guts looked over at his sword propped in the corner, and grinned mischievously. "So... does this mean I can put a sword in the crib with him?"

* * *

 _Can't stop... turning... Berserk... fluffy... Can't resist... desire to make even more..._ _fluffy material..._

 _Meaning, I'm drawing pictures now—the first of which is now the cover art for this story._ _If you want to see it in all its un-pixelated glory (really had to reduce the quality to get it uploaded on here), check my profile. I made a Tumblr._


	9. Trading Places

**Trading Places**

* * *

Casca breathed the fresh air deeply as she walked out of her tent with her sword at her hip and her armor fastened securely around her. She held her helmet tightly under her arm and smiled as she saw the banner of the Hawks flapping in the breeze, her men already on horseback, steel glinting in the rising sun. The Hawks might have been Griffith's force, but she had been leading them for nearly two years, and Casca's chest swelled with pride at the sight of them. It had been far too long since she had led her men, and she was glad to be back among them. Apparently, they were glad as well. When Casca's former unit spotted their former unit commander (now commander of the whole force), they sent up a cheer that spread throughout the whole camp, and her face flushed a bright red.

Horse hooves clomped on the dirt path behind her. "It's good to have you back, Casca."

The female commander looked up to see Judeau grinning down at her from his horse. She smiled back. "Thanks."

"Ready to move out?"

She stole a glance over her shoulder, back at her tent, and Judeau thought he saw her lips quirk in a grin.

"Almost."

Hips swaying confidently, Casca took a few steps toward her tent, and drew in a deep breath before bellowing, _"Guts! a_ _re you gonna come outta there and kiss me bye or not?!"_

A loud scowl could be heard from the tent, and more than a few of the Hawks chuckled.

Casca's mouth twisted into a wickedly satisfied smirk. She had been waiting to turn that embarrassing catcall back on him for months—ever since the first time he'd used it on her.

The entrance to the tent was shortly shoved open, and the second tallest member of the Hawks emerged, his baby son propped in the crook of his elbow. Casca laughed teasingly at his pouted lips and furrowed brow, and strode over to him with a gleeful air, a decided skip in her step. "Still jealous?" She teased.

"I'm not jealous!" Guts lifted his other hand to hold their baby more securely, discomfort written all over his grumpy face. He might have been a little jealous—he loved to fight after all. But that wasn't the reason for the ready pout on his lips. This would be Casca's first day on the battlefield since before the birth of their baby, and even though Guts knew she was back in perfect shape and a more than capable warrior, he was full of anxiousness.

Casca let her smile soften to one of care. "Don't worry so much, Guts. I'll be back before you know it." She assured him. She quirked an eyebrow, then stepped up on her tiptoes, daring him to deny her a kiss.

Guts was normally the one initiating PDA despite Casca's firm protests. This time, however, he glanced around quite uncomfortably before giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

More chuckles followed from the Hawks, and Guts growled low in his throat.

Casca sniggered, shaking her head at him, then turned her attention on their son, who was faring much better with her leaving. He giggled and held out his hand to her when Casca leaned down to his level. "Hello, little Griffith!" She said in a baby voice. "Daddy's going to take good care of you while Mommy earns some bread!"

Guts scowled again.

Casca kissed the baby on the cheek and then stood up straight. "Enjoy spending the day together," She said, offering another smirk before turning on her heel to leave. She climbed up on her horse and called to the rest of the Hawks that it was time to move out.

Guts sighed disappointedly as the Band disappeared over the horizon. Damn, he wished he could go with them. He and Casca had agreed that the only fair and responsible thing for them to do was take turns going into battle while the other watched Griffith. Still, he'd barely had an opportunity to be in battle with Casca since they'd become an item, and he wished that wasn't the case. He wished they could go into battle side by side.

The baby cooed and Guts was shaken from his melancholy as small hands found their way to his jaw. His frown turned into a smile as he looked down at his six-month old, chubby cheeks set in a wide, slobber filled grin. Guts wasn't sure why, but that smile directed at him made his chest swell with warmth every time he saw it.

Casca was right. He should just enjoy spending the day with the boy.

With a mischievous smirk, Guts suddenly hoisted his son up by the armpits and threw him in the air. The baby was absolutely delighted by the moment of weightlessness, and giggled as he fell back into his father's arms. "Ya like that, huh?" Guts asked. He threw the boy up in the air several times, enjoying making him laugh, until, in mid flight, the child's grin suddenly disappeared. A split second later, Guts found himself covered in burped up milk. "Aw, Griff!" He groaned, wiping his eyes with his hand.

The baby looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, and Guts knew that face. "No… please don't!"

The baby started bawling.

Guts winced and held his son close. "There-there…" He said, patting the boy's back as he carried him into the tent. Why babies had to cry so much he didn't know, but it bothered him to no end. "It's gonna be a long day, ain't it...?"

* * *

 _Note: So. They're off the boat._


	10. Words

**Words**

* * *

Griffith wined as he crawled across the floor of the tent, looking up at Casca longingly as she chewed a piece of steak. His lips already set in a ready pout when denied what he wanted, and his mother couldn't help but grin a little at his resemblance to his father, even as she gave him a firm, "No."

Griffith wined again and reached for her plate, and Casca had to lift it high to keep him from grabbing food.

"Why not just let him try a little, huh?" Guts asked as he took a bite out of an apple.

The baby cooed and tugged at Casca's clothes.

"Because he's not ready. He still needs breast milk."

"Yeah, but look at 'im..." Guts said, resting his hand back on the floor as he sat on the ground beside Casca and their boy. "He really wants that meat. I bet he could handle a little…"

Casca shook her head. "Look," she set her plate up on the table above, then scooped the child up in her arms and lifted him toward Guts. "Smile for daddy!" She said, tickling him a little.

The boy giggled, showing a huge set of pink gums.

"See?" Casca said as she rested him back on the floor. "He doesn't have any teeth yet to chew with. He'd choke." She returned to her meal and Guts did the same with a shrug.

Having forgotten about the meat, Griffith crawled along the blankets on the tent floor until he reached his stuffed rabbit. Guts grinned, watching him play with it and imitate actual language as he tried to grasp the rabbit's ears with the fine motor skills of a drunkard. "When's he s'posed to start talkin' for real?" The swordsman queried as he started on his own serving of meat.

"Could be any day now."

"Wonder what he'd say…" Guts voiced between bites of steak. "It'd have ta be somethin' easy…"

"Like 'Mama?'" Casca asked, raising an eyebrow.

Guts grinned back. "Or ' _Dada_.'"

The Hawk's commander scoffed playfully. "Please." She pointed at her breast. "I'm the one who feeds him—I guarantee he says my name first."

"Is that so?" Guts challenged, his eyes narrowing wolfishly—though in amusement. "Would you care to make a wager?"

Casca made her posture confident. "What stakes?"

"Whoever loses cleans the tent by themselves for a week." He replied, as if the thought was disgusting, though neither of them much minded cleaning.

"Done." Casca said, letting the word flick off her tongue daringly.

"Keh. Are ya so sure he's gonna say your name first?"

Casca smirked and sat down on her stomach to face their child. "Hey, Griffith!" She said in a baby voice.

The little boy stuck his thumb in his mouth and looked up at his mother curiously.

"Can you say a word for me?" Casca asked.

"A-bah!" The boy smiled at her, happy for her attention.

"'Mama!'" Casca said, poking the boy in the tummy to tickle him a little as she said it.

"Mmm…" The boy began.

"That's it—say 'Mama,' Griffith. You can do it!"

Guts watched in amusement for a moment, before a mischievous thought struck him.

"Hey!" Casca protested as he scooped up the boy, interrupting her attempt.

Guts held a small piece of steak in front of Griffith's face and watched him follow it and drool. "If you say, 'Mama,' It's nothin' but breast milk for you until you teethe. Say, 'Dada,' and I'll let'cha have some meat right now."

"Guts! I told you, he'll choke on it!" Casca said nervously, sitting up on her knees.

Guts shook his head. "He won't—I promise." he said, keeping his eyes on their son. "C'mon, Griff. Waddya say?"

The boy looked at his father quizzically and reached for the meat.

"How about a sample?" Guts pulled the meat away and popped it in his own mouth. Immediately, their son blubbered and dissolved into tears.

"Oh, now I'm definitely going to win!" Casca said. "You can't tease him like that!"

She was surprised when Guts chewed the meat thoroughly, but instead of swallowing, pulled it out of his mouth again and offered it to their son.

The boy stopped crying and looked as if he'd been given the holy grail. He reached for the pre-chewed food with his tiny fingers and stuffed it in his mouth in an instant, as he was prone to do with every object small enough to eat. As soon as the flavor touched his tongue, he started laughing happily.

"Who feeds him what he likes now?"

Casca glowered. "Cheater."

"Alright, Griffith—say 'Dada' and you can have another piece."

Casca crawled over and shook her head at the boy. "'Mama,' Griffith—say 'Mama!'"

The parents spoke their respective names coaxingly to their son in unison as the boy looked between them in confusion. He was enjoying the attention, but had literally no idea what they were talking about.

"C'mon, Griff… meat?"

"Please, Griffith? I'm your mother…"

"Ma-Da!" The boy blurted out.

Guts and Casca looked at each other.

The warrioress's face twitched, and then she quirked a small smile. "Sounded like 'mother' to me."

"Uh, no. You know exactly what he said—besides, we agreed on 'Mama.' Face it—he said both our names."

"But he said mine first!"

"That doesn't mean anything," Guts said indignantly before popping another piece of meat in his mouth. The boy wined and reached up to Guts' face for the meat he knew he might be given.

"'Dada,' Griff?"

"Da-Ma!"

Guts pouted, but gave the meat to his son anyway.

"…Maybe we should just use this as opportunity to say he loves us both equally." Casca conceded, laying back on the family pallet with a sigh.

"Works for me." Guts admitted. "It ain't a competition, after all."

It was definitely still a competition.

Griffith's first true word, however, would be "Corky."

* * *

 _A/N: Pre-mastication (pre-chewing your baby's food) is a real thing that people used to do and still do sometimes. In case ya weren't aware._


	11. The Little Things

**The Little Things**

* * *

Casca watched Guts closely whenever Griffith started doing something new. She loved to see his face light up with excitement as their son grew—see his eyes go wide the first time Griffith crawled, the first time he walked, the first time he said his father's name. There was so much Guts didn't know about babies and families, and it was as fascinating to watch him learn as it was to see what he could do on instinct.

Guts was so nervous at first. But the truth was, he was a natural with their son from the beginning. The moment he laid eyes on him, it didn't matter that he had never experienced fraternal love. He could give it effortlessly. He knew immediately how to make Griffith laugh and how to get him to listen—how to hold him and how to play with him, how to cuddle with him and how to take care of him.

But there were certain moments in Griffith's life where he withdrew—where, for whatever reason, he would suddenly become so silent. Casca never knew what would scare him until it happened.

Truly, it was the little things that made Guts nervous. Like the first day their boy got a toy.

It was his third birthday, and the Hawk's commanders had pulled out all the stops. They worked for weeks in advance, and each contributed a hand made toy. They were the first toys Griffith had ever owned. When he received them, everything had seemed fine. Casca had come in late and the child had darted up to her to show what he'd received. Everyone had eaten, everyone had a good time, but at some point, Guts disappeared. Casca had been distracted by her duties, and it wasn't until nightfall, when their small family would normally be relaxing in their tent, that she began to worry about his absence.

Griffith kept asking, and Casca tried to coax him to play with his toys and not worry. The boy refused to play with the toys or sleep until Guts had come back, however—driven nearly to tears because of his father's persistent absence. After enough waiting to make even Casca start to become nervous for the Hundred Man Killer, she left a very sleepy but determined Griffith with Rickert and went out in search of her partner.

High places were always a safe bet with looking for Guts, so that's where she went. She found him up on a hill, sitting up on a tree limb. His legs dangled over the side as he stared up at the moon. She sighed, leaving behind any worries she might have had of him being physically hurt, then trudged uphill to meet him.

"Hey," She said simply as she came up underneath the tree.

He turned his head in acknowledgement of her approach, but didn't really answer her.

Guts liked to be alone sometimes when he was troubled, which she didn't mind—but when he was gone this long, she became worried for him. Even if he didn't really want to, it sometimes did him good to talk to her. "You mind if I come sit by you?"

Guts shook his head, then after a moment, held out a hand to her. Of course Casca didn't need any help getting up in a tree, but it saved on time. She took his hand, and Guts lifted her up to sit beside him rather effortlessly.

"Thanks."

He nodded.

Casca sat beside him in silence for a while, giving them both time to think. It was spring, and crickets were chirping outside—the air cool and fresh. It was pleasant out here beside him, even if she knew it probably wouldn't stay that way. It reminded her of that day four years ago up on that hill, when they looked down on the campfires of the Hawks. Casca looked at Guts out of the corner of her eye. His face didn't betray that he was readily upset, but it was fairly clear he wasn't feeling the best. She looked down at his hand, resting on the limb, and slowly reached to clasp it in hers.

Guts lifted his arm in acknowledgment of that action, allowing them to lace their fingers together.

She leaned into him, making their shoulders touch, then whispered close, "Hey."

He looked down at her then, his eyes quiet and sullen—serious under thick brows.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Guts bit the inside of his mouth, mulling over words. He glanced at the ground below them before kicking his legs a little and looking off at the sky once again. "I'm okay—just… thinkin'."

"About what?"

Guts sighed. "About Griff, I guess. About… things I can't give him."

Casca furrowed her brow in confusion, before cupping his cheek, turning his face to hers. "What are you talking about?" She asked, shaking her head a little.

He gazed into her dark eyes—felt how perceptive she was—always searching through his emotions—desperate to know him. It wasn't often that Guts got emotional, but he felt something in his heart clench—though he'd been feeling that way most of the day. It had hurt today, when he looked at her—when he looked at Griffith. He didn't know why, aside from... "It's just that—I can't give him some things. I'm not equipped for it… I don't know how."

Casca's nostrils flared slightly as she released a breath. She put a hand in his hair, combing through it a little. "What happened today, Guts?" She asked gently. "What happened between you and Griffith?"

He looked down, leaving them in silence for several minutes. Casca could see his eyes were turning glassy—that he was struggling not to get upset.

She let him think, keeping her eyes on his face, watching him closely.

Finally, he spoke, his voice choking slightly—biting—when he said quietly, "Griffith asked me to teach him how to play with toys."

Casca closed her eyes slowly. "Guts…"

He offered a smile that was supposed to show he was fine, but ended up looking forced. "Judeau must've known—known I don't know how that's done. Before I had to answer, he told Griffith that Rickert might be able to teach him better. But Griff looked up at me, and he said he didn't want Rickert—it had to be me." Guts looked down at their still entwined hands. "I told him I would play with him tonight. But when I saw him in the tent, I just… I felt… I couldn't go in there. I know it's ridiculous..."

"Guts." Casca squeezed his hand tightly and looked at him quite seriously. "Not knowing how to play with toys doesn't make you a bad parent."

He nodded—smiled, but it was unsure. He still looked on the verge of tears.

Casca took both his hands in hers. "Guts, listen to me: You've been playing with Griffith since long before he had any toys. Every time you pick him up and throw him in the air... Every time you lay on the floor of the tent and let him crawl all over you... Every time you take him down to the river for a bath and splash water in his face... Every time you make faces at him and get him to roughhouse with you... You're playing with him. No one had to teach you how to do that. You already knew." She smiled and kissed his nose. "Griffith's the same. He doesn't actually need to be shown how to play with toys. It's natural—he already knows. He wants you there because he loves you. With no other kids around, you've been his playmate his whole life, and he wants to share this with you."

A tear did escape at that—Guts reaching up immediately to wipe it away as if it never happened. He took a good breath and kicked his feet some more. "Yeah… I guess it just made me think about other things I might not understand." He looked at her with a troubled expression. "What about… what about those kinds of kid things that I don't know about? Hell, Casca, you've had to explain so many things to me. I still don't understand that damned rabbit, or why Griffith sometimes cries over certain things, or why he immediately runs to me when he's scared…" He gave that same pained smile again. "What if… what if… because of the way I've been stunted in some ways, I end up making' him stunted too—not experiencin' normal things? I don't really know what fathers are supposed to do for their kids—how they're supposed to teach 'em or what they're supposed to teach 'em. I don't know if I'm doing anything right. I… don't have any way to know."

Casca put an arm over his shoulder. "That's been a recurring worry for you. But some of that is the reason you have me. There are things I don't understand either, Guts. If you think I have this all figured out or something, you're wrong. Besides… I don't think you're nearly so ill equipped as you believe yourself to be. Some things you probably understand better than I do—better than a lot of people do. There are some things you can explain better to him than I can, and that you already represent. You're giving him a model for what a man should be, and believe me—it's not a bad model." She held his face in her hands. "You're strong, thoughtful, caring, independent, bold, kind... All of those things are traits that I hope our son inherits—and some of them are things that your life—however unconventional or even painful it might have been thus far—has taught you. Those traits are the important things—not whether you know how to play with toys, or understand why he loves that rabbit." She put her arms around him as best she could—though she never could quiet reach completely around his large form, what with the size of his arms. "From the moment you laid eyes on that boy, you've loved him and done everything you could to take care of him. You've held him, laughed with him and played with him. Remember what you told me once? That I love Griffith—and that's what matters most? The same is true for you, Guts. It's all he really cares about. He won't feel like he's missing out having you for a father. You're the best father he could have—the best I could ask for our son."

Guts didn't look at her, but slowly, he wrapped his arm around her waist too, and pulled her closer, before staring off at the moon again. "Thanks," He said finally.

"Of course." Casca laid her head on his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a while again, before Guts announced, "It's later than I thought."

"Probably so," She agreed, then chuckled a little. "Griffith might still be awake too—he swore he wouldn't sleep or play with his toys until you came back."

Guts winced a little at that.

"Hey—" She nudged him in the side. "It just shows what I was telling you—that he loves you and wants to share this with you."

"Yeah..." He shifted his weight and dropped down to the ground below them. "I guess I got a promise ta keep, then."

They hadn't even reached their tent before Griffith came darting out of it, two wooden soldiers in hand. "Daddy!" He shouted running to his father full speed.

Instinctively, Guts leaned down to pick him up when he was in arms reach.

The child looked at him with wide, excited eyes, as he blurted out, "Can we play now?"

Guts smiled at him and patted his head. "'Course."

Rickert emerged from the tent shortly after. He shook his head at Casca in a bit of an overwhelmed way.

"Was he trouble?" She whispered as he came up beside her.

"Not really," The young man replied, smiling reassuringly. "Though I did have to keep him from wandering off to find you and Guts. He was just really upset—said Guts promised him something. As soon as he saw him making his way over, he did a complete 180."

Casca looked on Guts and saw that his nervousness was already melting—a natural calm in his eyes now as he smiled a little and spoke quietly to his son.

"He okay?" Rickert asked.

"Yeah," Casca turned back to her friend. "I think he's alright now."

"Good." Rickert clapped a hand on her shoulder, offering a nice smile, then took his leave, returning to his own tent for sleep.

"Guts?"

The swordsman turned to Casca, keeping Griffith pressed against his chest.

"I'm going to go check on the wounded men real quick." She watched his eyes closely, searching his face for signs of nervousness, then asked, "Will you be okay?"

Guts looked down at their son—at the toys in his hand that he was practically shaking with excitement to go ahead and enjoy. "Yeah."

Father and son brushed into the tent, and Guts set Griffith down, only for the boy to immediately crawl into his lap when he was seated on the floor.

This kid… This kid really did love him.

"What are we gonna play first, Daddy?" The boy asked, already scrambling for more toys.

"Griffith…"

The boy caught his father's tone immediately—the way his grip became more firm. He looked up at his father quizzically.

"I gotta be honest with ya," Guts said, looking at his child seriously. "I know you expect me to teach you, but I've never played with toys before. I don't know how."

Griffith looked at him a moment, his face confused. It was new for him—the idea of Guts not knowing how to do something. He looked down at one of the wooden toys in his hand for a moment in contemplation, then lifted it toward Guts. "It's okay, Daddy. I'll show ya how."

Guts' eyes widened for a moment before he smiled warmly. He took the figure from Griffith's hands. "So how do we do this, Griff?"

"We pretend the toys are mercenaries," The boy explained haltingly, stumbling over larger words. "And we have to fight the bad guys."

"Who are the bad guys?"

"Chuder. And we're the Band of the Hawk!"

Guts grinned. "We are, huh?"

"Uh-huh." The boy picked up a figure. "This one is Mommy. She commands the good guys and makes sure everybody stays safe."

Guts marveled as his three-year old explained the positions held by each of the Hawk's officers as he held up figurines for Pippin, Rickert, Corkus, and Judeau. He had no idea that his son knew so much about the structure of their band, and was impressed by the simple yet accurate explanations. All of the figures looked the same to Guts, and he was wondering how his son remembered who was supposed to be who, when Griffith shoved another toy in his face.

"Do you know who this is?"

"Uh…" Hrm. They were out of commanders.

Griffith scrunched up his nose at his father, as if the answer was obvious. "It's you, Daddy!"

"Me?"

"Yeah." Griffith hugged the toy to his chest. "You're the strongest and best guy." He said matter-of-factly.

Guts shook his head, laughing now, and ruffled his son's hair. "S'at so?" Any anxiousness he had left immediately disappeared. He kissed the boy on the head.

"Yeah. I'm gonna be you, Daddy. Who are you gonna be?"

"Uh… I dunno… Why don't you pick for me?"

"Take Corky!"

"….Corky?" There was a bit of an awkward silence. "...Griff, you know Corkus probably wouldn't…"

Casca smiled from where she lingered at the canvas tent's edge, happy as she quietly watched Guts and Griffith laugh and handle the wooden soldiers.

Yes, it was the little things that made Guts nervous—but he pulled through them.

She backed slowly away from the tent, her eyes lingering, until at last she turned on her heel to attend her last duties, leaving father and son to their play.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope this one turned out okay. I have way too many ideas for this fic (this was supposed to be like, five short stories originally) plus some other ideas for other Berserk stories, and it took me forever because I just can't get one of them written how I want. There are too many plot bunnies flying around. Agh! Oh well. It's a good problem I guess.

By the way, I like how the news of a new anime (finally _not_ covering the Golden Age) was released strategically to soften the blow of another hiatus and irregular releases returning... *hrrgmgrumblegrumble*... This does mean, however, that I have time to write more along the lines of my "Casca's Sprint" fic... I'm thinking something about scars...


	12. Mud Fight

**Mud fight**

* * *

Casca stormed through the camp, her hands clenched tightly into fists and her steps quick and purposeful. She was not in the best of spirits, to put it mildly, and it seemed as if everything she saw annoyed her: Unkept hair, armor not polished enough, swords not sharp enough… everything was wrong with the world, and it all seemed to catch her searching eyes.

She passed Corkus, and her eyes narrowed as he took a swig from his liquor bottle, his cheeks slightly reddened from drinking. He was telling a story to a very uncomfortable-looking Rickert—most likely some vulgar tale of his "exploits" that he thought would put hair on the young man's chest.

"So after we left the tavern, I took her—"

"Corkus!"

The two men nearly jumped off the log they were sitting on. Rickert blushed guiltily, and at the sight of his commander's fierce gaze, Corkus cringed. "Y-yes, Casca?"

She scoffed and strode up to them, folding her arms across her chest. As she drew closer, both men noticed that she looked a little pale and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Casca, are you okay?" Rickert asked gently.

"I'm _fine."_ Casca scowled. Her gaze turned on Corkus, and he gulped. She looked absolutely livid, and his hazy mind was grasping around frantically to try and figure out what he'd done wrong lately.

"Wh-what's up?"

She sighed. "Do either of you know where my _children_ are?"

Rickert blinked. "You mean your child?"

"No, I mean my children—plural."

Corkus cackled quietly and took another sip of his drink.

"Oh! Guts and Griffith? Um… Last I saw them, Guts was taking him down to the river to wash up for dinner." Rickert eyed the darkening scowl on her face. "Did… did they never come back?"

"No. No, they didn't. And I sent them over an _hour_ ago." She turned on her heel, muttering curses under her breath, and stormed down toward the river bank.

Rickert let out a sigh of relief. "Wow. I hate to say it, but I'm glad her anger wasn't directed at us."

"God, that woman's been such an insufferable _bitch_ lately!" Corkus spat before taking another swig of ale.

"Corkus!" Rickert chided.

 _"What?_ It's true!"

Rickert looked down at the fire they'd both been tending. "I guess she has seemed a little tense lately," He admitted, frowning. "She and Guts have been fighting a lot..."

As Casca made her way down the hill, her stomach suddenly clenched with horrible nausea. She staggered over to the nearby bushes and puked her breakfast out, breathing heavily. _Dammit. Dammit!_ She swore to herself as she wiped her mouth.

Her ears perked perceptively as echoing laughter resounded from downhill.

So... They were down by the river after all. Casca sighed, convincing herself to remain calm despite her irritation, then started walking down. She didn't know why it was taking them so long, but at least they must be finishing up. Her anger was in the process of cooling back to a dull flame, when the two males she was seeking peeked into view, and her rage flared even stronger than before.

Guts and Griffith weren't washing up. They were on the river's edge, lugging chunks of mud at each other. The mud was in their hair, saturating their clothes, literally covering them from head to toe.

And they were laughing about it.

Griffith had good aim. He hurled globs of mud at Guts and struck him in the face, calling out with a hoot of victory.

Guts wiped his face and the white of his teeth showed through the grime as he grinned widely. "You're gonna get it!" He shouted, rushing at his son. He picked the boy up under the arms and tackled him into the mud, then tickled him until he could barely breathe he was laughing so hard.

 _"What are you two doing?!"_

The two males looked up in surprise. Casca had been rather temperamental lately—especially toward them, and the realization that they had gotten pretty carried away suddenly washed over them, bringing dread and fear in its wake.

The mother glared down at her son. "Griffith, I told you to get cleaned up an hour ago! Down to the river— _now!"_

The terrified three year-old nodded, and was tearing downhill with mud trailing behind him an instant later, abandoning his father to the wrath of the gods.

Guts wasn't one to run from any kind of fight, and fights with Casca were no different. In fact, on occasion, they would argue lightheartedly for sport. It wasn't like that today, however, and it hadn't been like that for the past few days. If he could've chosen, therefore, he would have preferred to avoid this particular spat. He stood with an awkward frown on his face, waiting for the coming storm.

"Guts?" Casca asked, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "I send you down here to make sure he gets cleaned up, and you help him do the exact opposite?!"

There was disappointment in her eyes, and he always hated that. He would have looked slightly ashamed and uncomfortable, if one could actually see under all the mud. "Sorry..." He mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

Normally, that would have been the end of it—Casca would have accepted the apology and they would have moved on with their lives. Today however, it was not meant to be.

Guts stiffened when he heard a choked sound, and looked up to see Casca crying. It wasn't terribly unusual for Casca to cry, but this was... different.

"Casca…?" Guts whispered, stepping toward her in sudden concern. He couldn't stand it when she was upset.

"Don't come near me!" She shouted, angry tears dripping. "I'm still mad at you!"

Guts stopped in his tracks, confusion and hurt written all over his face.

Casca was so angry she was having trouble controlling her breathing. She wiped her eyes furiously and grit her teeth. "Is it even possible... For you to act like an adult for two damn seconds…?" She asked quietly.

Guts only frowned, unsure of what to say.

"Just… just… please make sure he gets cleaned up and leave me alone for a while…!" Casca turned on her heel, wiping at her eyes as she marched back up to camp, leaving Guts standing in the mud.

* * *

An hour later, Casca was sitting at her desk, looking over some maps to distract herself from the irritation and anxiety she was feeling—the type that made her heart beat fast and kept her from wanting to eat. She was so damn mad at Guts. She had been for days. It seemed like everything he did infuriated her, but... She sighed and rubbed her temples. He didn't necessarily deserve that... Sure—he could be childish, but she usually didn't mind that, and accusing him of acting immature all of the time was inaccurate. In fact, Guts was usually very mature, and frequently showed an abundance of wisdom and reliability. But lately…

She sighed.

Guts was smart, he was a great shoulder to cry on, he could be so caring and so sweet, but... Casca clutched her stomach, and felt tears welling up again.

When she heard the tent flaps shift slightly, she was a bit distracted by her work and didn't turn. "Griffith? You want some dinner, honey?" She asked, wiping her eyes. She did turn around then, but instead of her son, was met with the sight of his partially naked, dripping wet father. When spotted, he stiffened like the dead, pressing his muddy clothes tightly around his waist.

"Guts! What the hell? You're dripping all over the damn blankets!"

"I'm sorry! I just..." He sighed and looked at her glumly. "I forgot my towel and clothes, okay?"

Casca pinched the bridge of her nose. "Does Griffith at least have his?"

"No, but I'm gettin' 'em..." He said as he rummaged through a pile of laundry. "He's clean now, at least. Just relax, okay?"

Casca's back tensed visibly as she leaned over her paperwork. "Would you _please_ stop doing that?"

Guts glanced up, raising an eyebrow at her in confusion. "Doin' what?"

"Talking like that."

"Talkin' like what?"

"Exactly like that—!" Casca slammed her hand on the table and jumped to her feet to face him with gritted teeth. "Using excessive contractions and words like 'ya' and 'ain't,' when I know you only do it to annoy me!"

Guts scrunched up his nose and looked at her quizzically. "You've never said it bothered you before—in fact, you've said you find it 'endearing!" He scowled. "Besides… I don't do it to annoy you, it's just the way I talk!"

"Really?" Casca challenged, glaring daggers at him. "Then how come it stops when you're upset or really serious?"

Guts twitched an eyebrow and sighed in irritation, before snatching up some clean pants and throwing them on. "Griff?"

From outside the tent, a meek little voice answered back. "Yeah?"

Guts snatched up some more clothes and came to the edge of the tent. He looked down on the dark haired boy, then handed him his clothes and a towel. "Your mama and I need ta talk."

The boy frowned glumly and looked at his feet. "Are you and Mommy gonna yell at each other...?" He asked nervously.

"Hey…" Guts squatted down and ruffled his son's hair.

Casca looked off to the side, folding her arms across her chest as a bit of guilt started to run through her.

"I'll be honest with ya. There's definitely gonna be yellin'," Guts said quietly so only the boy could hear, "But it's nothin' for you ta worry about."

Griffith nodded sheepishly. "Can I go see Rickert and Corky?"

Guts saw that the two men in question were in sight, still around that campfire about 100 feet away. He nodded his consent, and the boy took off quickly, not wanting to hear his parents shouting.

Guts took a good breath, then turned to face the woman he loved. "Alright, Casca—out with it."

Casca scowled. "Out with _what?"_

"The reason you've been on my case about every gahddamn thing lately," He said flatly.

"I'm not!"

"Yes," He nodded seriously. "You are."

 _"No I'm not!"_

"Yes you are!" Guts grimaced, trying to reign in his temper, but his voice still shook with frustration as he spoke. "When I came in here... 'cause of the way you've been lately I expected you to get mad at me for forgetting another thing... But the way I _talk?_ I feel like I'm walkin' on eggshells around you all the time, and the slightest thing just makes you _explode_ at me! I haven't said anything 'cause I thought it was your period..."

Casca could have ripped his head off.

"...But even that doesn't make you get so frustrated that you start cryin'!"

"Screw you! The way you talk undermines the seriousness of the situation when I'm mad at you! You have no idea how infuriating you've been lately!"

"How infuriating _I've_ been?!" Guts fumed. "I haven't been acting any different than normal! _You_ on the other hand, have been acting irrational as hell all damn week! I can't do anything right with you lately, so forgive me if I don't always take your shouting at me that seriously! I could be standing still and you'd still find something I screwed up!" Guts was finally starting to raise his voice to match hers. _"_ And not just me—you've been short with the men lately too!"

Casca tended to cry when she got extremely angry, and Guts had a habit of getting aggressive and shaking her when she was upset. It sent him into fits to see her hurting, and he was often overbearing when trying to fix the problem—especially when he was slightly angry already, or was the cause of her being upset.

He gripped her by the shoulders, a hint of worry behind his fierce gaze. "Something happened this week, Casca—something that's put you on edge! What's happened? What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on!" Tears bit at her eyes. "I just need to be able to rely on you and I feel like I can't!"

"But _why?"_ Guts shouted desperately—his eyes wide with frustration and concern for her. _"Why_ do you feel this way? What's changed? What's the matter, Casca? _Why are you so damn determined to be pissed at me?!"_

"Because…!" She choked.

"Why, _dammit?!"_

 _"Stop shaking me!"_

 _"Tell me what's wrong!"_

Casca's lips were pursed stubbornly over gritted teeth, and her whole body trembling with rage, before she suddenly screamed, _"YOU GOT ME PREGNANT AGAIN, YOU ASSHOLE!"_

There was silence.

Guts' voice was stolen. He gawked at her, frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates.

Casca looked at him for a moment, then suddenly blubbered and dissolved into tears.

Guts immediately jumped back into alertness, grabbing onto her as she dropped against him. "H-hey…!" His anger had immediately melted, and he now hushed her as he tried frantically to collect his scattered wits.

 _"I-I'm sorry…!"_ Casca sobbed, clutching onto his shirt. "I know I've been unfair…! I don't want to feel this way… I love you and Griffith and I like the idea of having another kid… It's just… just…!" She hiccuped. "I feel like I was just getting the Hawks and everything under control, y'know? And now it's all going to go down the drain again and I'm going to get so behind…!"

Guts sighed and held her close. "Okay… I understand…"

"It was just so stressful the last time…" She continued, feelings she'd been holding back for days flooding out all at once. "I'm already getting queazy in the mornings and my emotions are out of control! Soon I'm going to be waddling around… my back hurt so much last time… and my feet… and some days I just wanted to lay down instead of hobbling around all day… but I always had so much to do!"

Guts closed his eyes and sighed as he ran his fingers through her hair. "It's not gonna be like that this time, okay?"

"Y-you can't promise that…" Casca mumbled dejectedly. "You don't even _know...!"_

"Yeah I do," Guts combed her bangs back and leaned down to look her in the eyes, his gaze focused on her alone. "I know, because this time, I'm gonna be helping. _I'm_ gonna make the difference." His eyes softened—something sad behind them. "You were so stressed last time 'cause you didn't have much help... I was nervous and worried and I didn't know anything about families or pregnancy the first time around... I got in the way a lot instead of helping you. Hell, I… I barely even watched you deliver. I know that was tough, and I'm sorry. I didn't understand my responsibilities until after Griff was born... But it'll be different this time." Guts poked her in the arm, and a slight teasing grin formed on his face. "This time, I'm gonna be takin' care a'you. You're not gonna lift a finger—unless you want to, that is. Got it?"

Casca's face set in a sniffly frown and she launched at him with a hug.

Guts patted her back, smiling a little more now.

"I told you… you _do_ stop talking like that when your serious…" She sniffled into his shirt.

Guts' laughed a little. "Maybe sometimes... Does it really bother you?"

Casca shook her head. "It _is_ endearing…" She reached a hand into his hair, ruffling it. Something changed in her face though, and she pulled back a clump of dirt in her fingers.

Guts shifted uncomfortably, hoping this didn't cause their argument to renew.

Casca only took his large hand in both of hers. "C'mere…" She sniffled.

"Huh?"

There was silence for a while as Guts sat in a chair awkwardly, allowing Casca to stand behind him and pick debris from his scalp. In some ways, it felt like the symbol of his shame, and he frowned uncomfortably before saying, "Hey… sorry."

"About what?"

"…Lotsa of things. But right now… about today. About not being enough of an adult lately, like you said. I get why you freaked out when you saw Griff and I down by the river… felt like you had two kids instead of one, with a third on the way..." He grumbled, a bit uncomfortable with his honesty. Guts did try his best, but lately he knew he had gotten carried away with Griffith on occasion, and acted more like the boy's playmate than his father.

"It's okay…" Casca shook her head and laced her fingers into his hair. "I mean… It was frustrating just because he was supposed to take a bath… but… I made it a bigger deal than I should have... and... I really love seeing you play with him like that. I get why you act like a kid sometimes."

Guts scowled lightly. "Well then, you're the only one who gets it, because I don't..."

Casca smiled a little despite her still glassy eyes, and leaned down by his ear, resting her hands on his shoulders. "It's because you never got to be a kid when you _were_ a kid," She deduced. "You didn't have toys, or friends to play with, or anyone, really. Not until the Band of the Hawk. Now that you've finally gotten completely comfortable with him, you've been making up for lost time."

Guts rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess…" He mumbled, a bit embarrassed. If he thought about it, the first time he remembered laughing and playing with another kid was the day Griffith dumped a bucket of water on his head all those years ago.

"I like seeing you play with him. It gives me the sense that…" Casca sighed, and came to kneel down beside him, resting a hand on his cheek. "I get the sense that you're healing. Even from things you don't know are wounds, Guts." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "And you don't act like that all the time anyway… Even… even just in the tent a while ago, you were so good with him—making sure he was okay even though he knew we were going to fight. I could use a bit more forbearance from you sometimes, but… you're a great father, and I love you, okay? No matter what. I love everything about you—even your faults."

Guts looked up at her and offered his shyest smile—the unsure but honest one that she found so very sweet. A moment later, a more mischievous look crossed his face though, and he yanked her onto his lap.

Casca yelped in surprise, but managed to recover soon enough to join him in a kiss—a kiss that he intended to echo her words of affection.

They both grinned, holding each other tightly.

"So…" Guts whispered close to her lips, grinning down at her. "We're gonna have another kid then, I guess…"

"Yeah…" Casca shrugged, and for the first time, a smile formed on her lips at the thought.

"Am I allowed to be excited now?"

Casca rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. _"Fine,"_ She sighed, before wrapping her arms around his neck.

They both chuckled, before kissing several times more.

* * *

 **A/N** : Literally the sole prompt for this was the idea of Casca calling Guts an asshole for getting her pregnant. How it turned into a piece over 3,000 words I don't know. Hah... hope it's okay. -_-

If you want to see a short comic of Guts and Casca groping each other, google PlaidDoodles on Tumblr. Also featured: Casca comforting Guts during a nightmare, and him taking a nap with his son.


	13. Nightmares I

**A/N:** _Apparently, I decided to steal a move from Miura's book and give y'all an indeterminate amount of hiatus. Can't have the Berserk fanbase getting too used to any kind of frequent releases, even if it's just fanfiction, can we? But naw-the plot bunnies multiplied as their kind is known to do until my head nearly imploded. Also I was very busy for a while, heh heh... So now that I have some sense of clarity back and it's summer, I can start working through the backlog of like 100 Berserk fics on my computer and phone (most of which are nothing but poorly formed, terrible ideas that will never see the light of day)._

 _The story below is out of sequence... (though it's not really possible for it to be in sequence since it is really several stories with the same theme set over the course of Casca and Guts' relationship). So for those who were excited for a pregnant Casca story... there is nothing to fear, as it is in the works. This just isn't it. Below resides nothing but gratuitous hurt/comfort with a side of cheese, which has been on my computer for a while (sorry)._

 **Nightmares I**

* * *

 **Part I: First Year**

"No..."

"St-top...!"

"Don't..."

Casca's eyes opened slowly to behold a dark tent, her thoughts somewhere stuck between reality and the land of dreams. She was tired. God—being pregnant was killing her back and feet, and sleeping was such a necessity, yet such a pain sometimes... The slightest hint of a sound seemed to wake her up, if it wasn't just throbbing pain from waddling around all day or receiving a nightly kick from the baby in her womb. She'd actually been sleeping quite soundly, though. So what...?

"No...!"

 _Ah._

Casca turned over slowly to face Guts. He lay flat on his back beside her, his eyes tightly shut, sweat glistening on his bare skin as he tossed and turned in his sleep. He looked stressed—his teeth clenched together and his eyebrows furrowed. His breath was very unsteady, almost as if he were running, and his hands clutched tightly at the blankets laying over him, almost as if they felt like restraints to him in this state.

Casca sighed and looked on him with concern.

Since beginning to share a tent with him, she'd come to find he had nightmares quite often—at least once a week, if not more. Of course, he had plenty of fuel for nightmares—what with a brutal rape and endless death in his past. But it had been particularly bad this week. She tried to wake him up, but sometimes he wouldn't—and even if he did, the nightmares seemed to begin again as soon as he drifted back off to sleep. He'd seemed tired every morning this week, as if sleep had given him no rest—or may have even drained him.

Casca watched him suffer—sounds nearly like whimpers being pulled from his throat as he struggled, and wondered if there was anything else she could do.

He of course, had only told her that sometimes he had more nightmares than usual—that eventually his dreams would calm down again—but he seemed embarrassed—maybe even ashamed—that he woke her so often. He hadn't even known that he talked in his sleep until she told him.

Casca scooted closer to him, observing how his arms flexed and his fingers clenched against the sheets. On impulse, she slowly began to drift her hand up to his, smoothing it over his arm before gripping his wrist.

He flinched in his sleep, "N..No...!" He gasped slightly, reacting to her touch with fear in the throes of his dream.

"Shh... It's okay..." Casca said quietly, watching his eyes to see if he would stir. He didn't, and she scooted closer to him, bringing her other hand up to his head, scratching his scalp. "It's okay, Guts... Shh..."

Casca pulled the blankets off him where he had twisted them together, giving him more freedom to move.

He struggled against her arm drifting over his chest, but seemed to calm as she situated it and lay over him slightly. She'd seen this before—many years ago, when he first joined the Hawks and she was ordered to keep him warm. He'd struggled through dreams then, too, and seemed scared, but even then, it was as if her touch soothed him. She brought her lips close to his ear. "You're safe... Shh... You're safe here with me..." She whispered soothingly, running fingers through his hair.

The tenseness in his muscles began to give way almost immediately—his breath steadying as well as he accepted her arms around him. After a moment, he completely stilled, and his breath steadied in deeper sleep. Casca smiled. "There you go..."

She started to turn back over, when she realized his hand had wrapped around _her_ wrist at some point, and it was the only thing to which he now clung tightly.

 _Hrm._

Well... Casca figuring it wasn't worth it to risk waking him when he finally rested peacefully, just to get him to relinquish her arm. She got a little closer, pressing a light kiss against his cheek, then settled against his chest and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

 **Part II: Second Year**

Guts woke with a start. He sat bolt upright in bed, sweat dripping off his broad and muscled frame, as he tried to slow his heart rate and breathing back down to normal levels. He clenched his fists, trying desperately to keep his hands from trembling, but found next to no respite from his nightmare. He rubbed his face with his hand and grimaced, before turing his eyes on his sword, which was laid across the floor to his right, touching the canvas tent's edge. Just looking at it calmed him a little, and though it was the middle of the night, he instinctively started to reach for it for comfort, as he'd done basically all his life.

Just an hour or so of practice… that always helped him cope.

He was rising to his knees when a soft sigh resounded from his left side. Guts stopped dead when he heard the blankets ruffle, and felt her arm wrap around his wrist, keeping him from rising.

Somehow, his dream had made him forget that he shared a tent—that he'd shared one for the last two years.

Guts' gaze turned on Casca.

It was far too dark for him to make out the details of her face, but he knew she was not awake. She had grabbed him instinctively in the night, as she sometimes did. Her breath was still steady in deepened sleep, her hold on his wrist loose but consuming. Her hands were soft and warm on his flesh, though they were both sweaty, and it was hot outside. Guts watched her for what seemed like several minutes, but was probably less than one.

For the thousandth time, he wondered what she saw in him—why those soft, pink lips and beautiful dark eyes had a smile reserved only for him. Why her strong but smooth arms had wrapped around him in an embrace that day a few years back, instead of pushing him away and calling him a monster—telling him to leave. She was so beautiful—her coal-colored hair that he could smell and stroke through for hours, her dark skin that pressed against him, looks that left him breathless, whispers and open words of affection that made him want to hold onto her forever.

And yet…

Guts looked at his sword, resting on the floor. He had always turned to his sword after a dream—especially dreams of the past, that left him feeling powerless—as if all his skill was worthless and he must work so much harder in order to be safe.

He looked back at the woman resting beside him—clinging to him with love expressed through simple connection. How was it, that looking at her had calmed him so much more quickly and fully than a sword ever had?

Guts looked back at his sword one last time, then...

Maybe it was time to try something new.

Uneasily—nervously—slowly—he lowered himself back down toward her. He brought himself close to her, until he could see the peaceful look in her eyes, hear her quiet breathing. Watching her face, he carefully brought his arm over her. Her lips quirked in a smile. Guts wrapped both arms around her waist, trying not to wake her, and settled his head on her chest.

Casca stirred a little at that. "You okay…?" She mumbled, more than half asleep.

Guts pressed their bodies closer together. "Yeah... just a stupid dream…"

Casca blinked, a little surprised that he had turned to her. She wrapped both her arms around his head and held him close. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No…" He mumbled.

"Okay..." She closed her eyes sleepily as she ran her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. While she often offered comfort to him after a nightmare or flashback, he had never sought it out, only accepted what was given. She wasn't sure he had ever clung to her quite like this before.

Guts breathed in deeply, seeming to take in the smell of her clothes, his hand gripping her shirt tightly. "Sorry I woke you up…"

"Doesn't matter," She replied, before leaning down and kissing him on the head. She hesitated a moment—not sure if she should say it—but then whispered, "You're safe with me, okay?"

Guts only nodded, and went to sleep.

* * *

 **Part III: Third Year**

Guts bolted upright, barely managed not to scream as he woke up, gasping for air from a nightmare more intense than any he'd had in years. He trembled and clutched at the blankets tightly, shaking on the precipice of whimpering in terror. He immediately turned his eyes around his tent sporadically, until the two souls who brought solace to his fears focused into view.

She slept beside him—her breath steady and deep in sleep, her beautiful dark skin glistening against the moonlight.

The boy was on the other side of the room, his hands clutching that rabbit tightly. Sprawled out on his stomach, his cheek squished against the ground because he had fallen off his pillow.

Guts scanned them both for injury as he got back his breath, then closed his eyes, and let the peace of the two people he was closest to in the world calm him. After a good minute, his heart stopped pounding so erratically and he opened his eyes again.

The canvas tent billowed in the night breeze, and the two-year old rolled over, trying to find a warm space. As Guts looked at him, on impulse, he suddenly needed… He pulled the covers off himself and crawled over to the boy carefully, crouching beside him.

Blankets ruffled behind Guts a moment later, and a soft sigh announced his movement had caused Casca to wake.

"Guts?" She said softly, trying not to wake their child, "Are you okay?"

Guts didn't answer her yet. He watched their little boy sleep, then carefully, lifted the child into his arms. Griffith stirred a little, but recognized the arms of his father and only wrapped his small arms around Guts' neck before going right back to sleep, relinquishing the rabbit to the floor as he did so. Guts immediately picked it up, and carried his son over to the pallet he shared with Casca.

"Guts?" Casca repeated as he sat down beside her.

The swordsman turned his face to hers, but said nothing. In all honesty, he didn't need to. Casca could tell his thoughts from his actions and the look on his face.

Casca caressed his back, feeling the tightness of his muscles, but also how that tenseness dissipated as she worked. "Do you want to talk about it?" She whispered.

He seemed to mull it over for a moment, then shook his head and slowly lowered himself back down, keeping their son presses tightly to his side.

Casca looked at him for a moment, and thought to say something to comfort him, but a large and muscled arm reached out for her before she could say anything. Guts wrapped his arm around her waist, and she accepted the silent plea, laying down to rest against his side.

Guts sighed as relief took hold, with the two people who mattered most as near him as possible.

Alive and safe.

He felt a soft kiss planted on his cheek as he closed his eyes, and fell asleep with them in his arms.

* * *

 **Part IV: Eighth Year**

 _Guts scratched the back of his head uncomfortably, looking embarrassed, and avoided meeting her gaze. "I… I just… wanted to… give you these…" He murmured, holding out several dozen weeds and flowers from the fields around which they were camping._

 _Casca started crying. "Oh, Guts! That's so romantic!" She laughed at him and held him close, and after a moment, he hugged her back, patting her back to comfort her._

She was enjoying being held, until suddenly his form started to feel… smaller and squishier than usual, and the patting on her back turned to her being roughly shaken.

Casca drooled and snorted as she woke up, clutching her pillow tightly. "Huh?"

Guts was shaking her kind of roughly, his eyes wide in either concern or nervousness—she couldn't quite figure out which in her hazy state.

"Whaaaast?" She managed to sound out.

"Would ya wake up already?!"

Casca blinked and sat up, looking around the tent in the dark. _Weren't there… weren't there roses?_ She shook dumb dreams from her head and looked up at the father of her children. "What's wrong?"

Guts shook and his lips trembled. "There was a giant rabbit!" He blurted out. "I was naked and it chased me! It's giant eyes followed me—looking down at me from up above!"

Casca squinted and shook the vapors out of her head, trying to convince herself this was a dream too. Guts—the father of her children, who she had shared a bed with for eight years—did not dream about eyeballs. He dreamed about the people he cared about being violently slaughtered (sometimes at his hand), his kids being hurt, the sexual trauma he suffered as a child, and killing the man who raised him.

"You dreamed what now?"

"A giant rabbit, Casca!" He repeated, shaking her some more.

Casca looked at him, trying to find the look in his eyes that told her he was only joking. There was nothing in his eyes but a kind of bewildered fear, however. She coughed strategically, trying to suppress a laugh, but his mouth twisted as he recognized exactly what she was doing, and the look on his face—like a wounded puppy who just got kicked by its mother—made her feel simultaneously guilty and amused. So of course, she ended up laughing in his face.

Guts grit his teeth in frustration and hurt. "Why are you _laughing_ at me?" He asked desperately. He started to get up angrily, but Casca grabbed him around the neck and pulled him close, trying to contain her laughter. "C'mere Guts… You're safe, alright?" She said, trying to reign in her chuckling until it was nothing but a smile.

Guts tried to pry away from her, hurt by her amusement, but she only held onto him tighter and pressed his head firmly against her chest. "I'm sorry… I'm not making fun of you," She assured him, combing through his hair.

"Then what the hell do you call what you were just doing?" Guts growled.

Casac leaned back to hold him at arms length. "I'm very, very happy for you, Guts. That's why I'm laughing."

"What?" He glared at her with a cocked eyebrow.

Casca cupped his face and smiled tenderly. "You just had a normal nightmare—instead of the stuff from hell you've been dealing with for the past eight years… No wonder it scared you—you've officially healed enough to have nightmares than would wake up Corkus in the middle of the night."

Guts suddenly started blushing, completely aghast.

Casca pulled him close again and patted his back.

Guts put his arms around her. "...Th'kids can never know about this, okay?" He mumbled from between her breasts.

Casca yawned and patted him on the head some more as she felt the tremors running through him begin to wane under her attention. "Of course."


End file.
